


Freeze and Thaw

by Quarantine_mademe_doit



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artists, Disability, Disabled Character, Domestic, Established Blues, Established Relationship, F/M, Figure skaters, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Mentions of Rape, Mutual Pining, OOC, Physical Disability, Pining, Powerless AU, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, Rated M for language and themes, Recovery, Rock Stars, Slow Burn, Stanley Cup, Strangers to Lovers, Very Loosely based on the movie Led, Wheelchairs, World Figure Skating Championships, hockey players, kinda songfic-y in some parts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 109,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarantine_mademe_doit/pseuds/Quarantine_mademe_doit
Summary: Blossom Utonium, a famous figure skater, loses hope of winning the World Figure Skating Championships after an injury that renders her paralyzed from the waist down. Her state worsens after her long-time skating partner and boyfriend leaves her for another. Her fears and insecurities stand in the way of her possible recovery. Can she get back on the ice with the help of her friends, family and... a hot-headed hockey player?Meanwhile, her sister, Buttercup, has entered a music contest to sign her first contract with a well-known record label. But when the contest involves collaboration with another (annoying, lazy, irritating) contestant, will she back down from the challenge? Or will she find a love for something other than rock and rap?Tensions rise, pining ensues, and Bubbles and Boomer watch it all happen with a bag of popcorn and unconditional love.* take the number of chapters with a grain of salt - they're pretty short
Relationships: Boomer/Bubbles Utonium, Brick/Blossom Utonium, Butch/Buttercup Utonium, Dexter (Dexter's Lab)/Blossom Utonium
Comments: 491
Kudos: 719





	1. A Crack In The Ice

**Author's Note:**

> okay SO. wowie.
> 
> quarantine made me write this. It's my first fic, and it's also my first time writing a character with a disability. because i'm not a person with a disability, i'm trying my best to make this realistic and non-ableist. if you find anything offensive (when it's not intended to be so by one of the characters), please tell me ^^
> 
> also, i highly recommend the movie i based this on ;D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blossom falls

Blossom could hear the cheers emanating from the arena - the rink was waiting for her. Dexter was sat next to her, clinking the toes of his skates to one another and to the ground, rhythmically. His eyes followed the skating duo on the ice as they performed another lift, tension in his shoulders awfully noticeable. With his fingers interlaced with hers on one hand, she could tell he was as nervous as she was. These were World Championships, after all.

"Stop, you'll damage them," she pointed to his skates.

"I won't," he faked a chuckle, and went back to clinking them. _Does he ever listen?_

Finding that this was the all-too-familiar nervousness of every performance, Blossom tried distracting herself. She searched the front rows for her father and sisters. There they were, waving at her when she caught their eye. Bubbles managed to make Buttercup drop a jam session for this, but it seemed her green-clad sister didn't mind. Blossom grinned back at them, and then met her father's eyes. He winked and mouthed a "can't wait." The words eased her anxiety a little bit.

She recounted their sequence - the idea of organizing it in her head and replaying it over and over reassured her. It began with a combination of spins, followed by quad then triple axels, a dancing combo, the first lift and throw... Their routine started with jumps fairly early, they wanted to ensure their number of technical points stayed high.

As the previous pair's routine came to a closure, she was woken from her memory. It was their turn in about ten minutes, when the judges would decide the final score. It took all her willpower not to bite her lips.

225.53. Her willpower was suddenly crushed. She fiddled with her fingers, eyes to the ground, when their manager, Ms. Bellum, tapped her shoulder. The shade of her trademark red suit nearly matched Blossom's costume.

“Don't worry - you'll do great," she smiled.

"We will," Blossom swallowed and nodded.

They spent hours and hours of each week re-doing the routine, pointing out improvements as they went. They made it this far – all that training mustn’t have been for nothing. Blossom would settle for nothing less than perfect.

Dexter offered his hand, and they made their way to the entrance.

“You know, even if we don’t, we earned enough points in the previous stage to get us a spot in the top five,” Dexter raised a teasing eyebrow - testing her.

“I don’t want top five,” her voice dropped to a growl that surprises even her, “I want gold.”

“Me too,” he smiled knowingly. Dexter had taught her well.

They entered the rink.

Straightening out the frills of her costume, she gave her family one more smile. Bubbles and the Professor showed off a bright pink banner with "Blossom Utonium" written in bold letters. Between them, Buttercup sent a grin and a thumbs-up her way. _You'll do great._

"Representing the Unites States of America - Blossom Utonium and Dexter McPherson." Calling her back to reality, the announcer's shrill voice bounced off the walls of the arena.

The audience gave off a round of applause and cheer as the duo steadied itself in the middle of the rink.

"Skating to 'Remember me' by Thomas Bergersen," the announcer concluded.

One. Two. Three seconds. The music started, soft keys of the piano declaring first movements. Blossom moved around Dexter in calculated spins - one, two, and he joined her. More spins, then slow spirals, steps, and their first jumps. Quad and triple axel - both landed flawlessly.

At this point, Blossom would usually feel herself drifting, drowning out the crowd, the judges, the world. She would lose herself in the movement, the light piano leading her out of reality as she danced on ice. But something felt wrong, and she didn't.

Every step she took was walking on eggshells. With each move she made, she was reminded it needed to be nothing less than perfect. And with every spin, she felt the eyes of others all over her. Consuming her. _Calm down, calm down_ , she convinced herself as she drew closer to Dexter.

Music reached its first big height, and at its peak, Blossom was lifted and thrown. She spun - once, twice, three times - before she landed. Relief washed over her when she realized it wasn't clumsy. Her foot fell to the ice, and she continued. The relief was short-lived, though. That nauseating anxiety filled her up, her legs began feeling stiff, but she went on.

She concentrated on Dexter - that did her no good, he seemed even worse than her. His fingers twitched when she took his hand to spin around. Then came the toe-loops. She managed to land four rotations before continuing smoothly. It all looked controlled and coordinated, yet in all honesty, she had never been this unnerved in her entire life. No contest had ever made her feel like this before.

There was the triple Salchow. Blossom over-rotated and landed, having touched the ice with her hand. She cursed internally, but kept going. Their first deduction. So much about perfect.

Dexter neared her once again for a lift and throw. His shaky hands grasped her waist. In seconds, she was above his head, and out of his arms. It was too late for her to realize something was wrong with the way he had picked her up.

A sickening thud echoed across the rink when she fell on her back. The scream she let loose blocked out the music. She hurt all over. The voice in her head began counting down the three minutes she had to get up. Because she _had_ to get up. But no matter how hard she tried to move, she couldn’t. Her eyelids were so heavy. Blossom could hear the panicked screeches of the crowd, the shuffling of her partner across the ice as he raced to her, his voice calling out her name. Soon after, it faded away too.

* * *

Blossom woke up to a ceiling light of a hospital room above her head. Her head felt like hell as she tried to recall what happened. It was then that she noticed her shaken boyfriend sitting next to the bed, his hands holding one of hers in a white-knuckled grip. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but found that her voice had gone raspy and dry.

“Dexter,” she whispered as if she'd swallowed chalk.

It was enough to catch his attention. Dexter sprinted to the nearby sink with a plastic cup. His lips were tightly pursed, as if he was trying not to cry. Blossom heard him muffle a sob with his sweater, and sat up to take a better look. But he was standing at an odd angle – she couldn’t see his face. Her arms propped her up and prepared her to get out of bed, but her hips wouldn’t budge.

Confused, she ran her hand under the covers, pinching her thigh. Nothing. Her eyebrows knitted together as she scratched at her legs furiously, but to no avail. She didn’t feel her legs.

Dexter had never seen her cry before, so when tears began streaming down her face, he didn’t know what to do. With the cup still in his hand, he reached out to her.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he said, arm rushing around her shoulder.

She cried silently – no shivery sobs, no gasps, nothing. Utterly broken. Still, she kept in mind that this wasn’t entirely his fault…

When he offered her the cup, she downed it and wiped her face.

“What did the doctors say?” She finally spoke.

“They’re not sure. You weren’t operated on yet.” Dexter settled back onto his chair. “Professor Utonium fears the worst, though.”

“The worst?” Her eyes widened.

His lips tightened into a line, but he brought himself to say it. “Paraplegia.”

Suddenly, her expression was somber, bordering on apathetic.

“So I won’t skate anymore.”

There was a pause as Dexter found the words.

“Hey,” he near-yelled, “That is just the worst possibility! Who knows? This might not be it! You might skate again!”

She lay back down. “If I do get back on my feet … There’s no guarantee my skating will ever be the same.”

“I can go through it with you. Therapies, training, everything.” He sat back down.

“And what about your own training? Your competitions?” She rolled her eyes.

“I can wait for you.”

“What?!” The sheer force of her shock was almost enough to send her falling off the bed. “You can’t wait for me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’d wait for you! I love you!” Dexter grabbed her hand. “Hell, you’re Blossom Utonium, for crying out loud! I’ve never had a better partner – a better _girlfriend!_ No one can replace you.”

“Dexter.” Her tone interrupted him. “And what if all your waiting is for nothing? If I never walked again? Would you stay with me?”

The statement shut him up momentarily. She caught a tinge of uncertainty in his posture, but he continued.

“I would! Because I’d still love you!” He pressed on.

“You don’t understand. Would you love me if I never skated again?”

She had struck a chord that he wasn’t prepared for. Dexter’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenched. And somehow, he willed himself to speak again.

“Is this your way of saying you give up?” He asked.

“Dexter, we won’t always be able to skate.” Blossom steepled her fingers. “And if you don’t win gold now, you never will. You have to keep going, even if I can’t. But if I weren’t your skating partner,” her knuckles tensed, “would you love me?”

Dexter moved to the door, stopping just to answer with his back to her. He found the question itself ridiculous.

“I would.” He concluded. “And I have to remind you, if you decide to skate again – all you have is because of me. You’re famous – because of me. You can’t win anything without _me_ , Blossom.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Blossom was left to drown in the sheets of the Russian hospital. His words rang out in her head like the final verdict of a trial.

* * *

Russian doctors couldn’t do much about her state, because they had none of her papers. It was decided to get her back to Townsville as soon as possible. A day later, she was already there, in a hospital room of her hometown.

Several weeks, X-rays and operations later, the doctors came to a conclusion that any further operations are up for her to decide if she wanted them. Her diagnosis was settled - spinal disc herniation and compression of the spinal cord. It was up to her whether she wanted to go to physical therapy, operate it, both, or neither. If it was not treated at all, she would most likely never walk again.

By the end of March, Blossom kept getting his texts, and she didn’t reply. They were all the same – they were all empty promises. “I’m sorry about what I said. I’ll visit you tomorrow.” He wasn’t, and he didn’t. “There was an important meeting – I’m coming this Wednesday.” He didn’t. “Sorry, there was an interview I didn’t know about. I’ll visit soon.” He didn’t.

“Blossom, please answer me.”

She didn’t.

Hardly knowing what to think, Blossom replayed the idea of therapy in her head. She felt tired of everything – the stay in the hospital and the constant monitoring of medics drained her, but it also made her rethink walking ever again. What was the point? Even if she walked again, it wouldn’t be the same. Skating was out of the question. So why even try? She couldn’t win gold – not without Dexter to skate with her. Because he was right. Nothing would be the same without Dexter. And he basically said he wouldn’t work with her again - that’s how Blossom understood him. The more she thought about it, the more pointless therapy seemed. And the more pointless it seemed, the more hopeless she felt.

Blossom understood the look in her father’s eyes when he came to pick her up from the hospital. Sat in her wheelchair, she looked around the hall, filled with patients and doctors and… paparazzi. Spotting them, Professor Utonium sped up, refusing to give any comments. How she wished she couldn’t hear them all…

“Miss Utonium, how was it, working with Mr. McPherson?”

“Blossom, what are your current goals?”

“Miss Utonium, what was the stay in the hospital like?”

“Blossom, were you given a final diagnosis?”

_“Blossom, will you walk again?”_

Her stomach churned at the last question. _How rude could they get?_ She suppressed the urge to scream _Stop_ at the top of her lungs until they left. Thankfully, the Professor was quick, and they reached the parking lot.

Bubbles and Buttercup were waiting by the car, worry painted across their faces. They turned to see her, and Blossom believed she could see one thing very clearly in their eyes. Pity.

Upon opening the back door, the Professor asked his other two daughters to help him place Blossom inside. He packed the wheelchair up into the trunk before taking the driver’s seat. In the end, Bubbles and Blossom sat in the back, while Buttercup claimed shotgun.

She could feel BC's eyes on her in the passenger side mirror, but neither of them said anything. In fact, no one said anything. Nothing but the sound of the engine and the trashy rock radio could be heard.

“Well, uhh,” Bubbles killed the silence, “I heard Germany won this year’s World Championship.”

 _Couldn’t have picked a better subject,_ Buttercup punctuated her thoughts with a sigh.

“Good for them,” Blossom leaned on the window and watched the world pass by.

“You know, I heard that this isn’t incurable.” The Professor began. “I heard that with enough training and -”

“Can we talk about anything else?” Buttercup groaned, and Blossom internally thanked her for it.

The rest of the ride was spent talking about Bubbles's upcoming fashion show. The blonde talked about the creative process and even showed her a couple of works-in-progress. Blossom marveled at each piece and realized they'd look perfect for ice dance. She pushed the thought back and continued listening. The family fell into conversation all over again, and it continued until they reached Blossom’s home.


	2. Little Red Skates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they help her unpack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blossom goes through a lot in this one, mentally, so it might be a bit OOC

Once they arrived to her flat, they took her up to the apartment by elevator, and then came the great unpacking. The Professor offered to make some coffee, leaving the triplets in Blossom's room. Bubbles and Buttercup took her baggage and started folding everything back into its place. Blossom couldn’t help much, but she kept her sisters company and folded some lighter things. She was sitting on the bed as they commented on each and every outfit she'd packed.

“Ooh, this is really cute, Bloss!” Bubbles pointed out an oversized baby-pink sweater. “How come I’ve never seen you in it?”

_Because Dexter didn’t like it._

“What? Of course you have! I just don’t remember when...” Blossom replied.

“It’s not my thing, but I think it’d look good on you,” Buttercup said as she folded another pair of pants.

“Thanks,” Blossom smiled. “What’s up with your music, by the way? I heard you entered some contest.”

“Oh hell yeah! It’s held by _Young Townsville Records_. The same dudes that used to work with _The Streets_ and _Snowstorm_ , it’s gonna be lit!” Buttercup stood and pumped a fist into the air excitedly.

“Didn’t you complain about having to work with someone?” Bubbles asked.

“Yeah, but I looked into the guy’s application. His genre ain’t my style, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.” Buttercup shrugged as she sat back down. “We just gotta meet up and get organized.”

“Sounds great!” Bubbles grinned, kneeling by the suitcase to pick up more clothes.

“Yeah, can’t wait to hear it.” Blossom took another shirt and folded it neatly.

Buttercup heard the Professor asking how they like their coffee and walked to the doorway, shouting back an answer. “Nothin' for me, milk for Bloss and sugar for Bubs.”

“Okay!” The Professor yelled back to her.

Blossom chuckled at the exchange. She’d missed this – being with her family. Competitions and training took her all over the world, so she barely settled in her apartment and rarely saw them. Even when she was here, most of her time was spent with Dexter.

They all led such different lives, being apart was almost a norm. Well, except for the few times she got to go to BC's concert or Bubbles’s shows, or when they came to one of her competitions. Not walking anymore felt like a strain. If not skating felt weird, then not walking at all would be strange. And not travelling... _Another thing to get used to_ , she thinks, _being in the same place_.

She heard Bubbles utter a curious “oh,” and turned to see what it was.

“Hm?”

Bubbles stood from where she was on the fluffy carpet and carefully lifted a pair of tiny red ice skates from the bottom of the closet. The first skates she ever wore. She noticed the corners of Blossom's mouth twitch somewhere between a smile and a frown, as if she was unsure how to react.

“They’re so pretty,” Bubbles mused, coming towards her.

“Put them up there,” Blossom said with her eyes downcast. Her hand was gesturing to the highest shelf in her closet, one she couldn’t even reach without a chair.

“What? Why?” Buttercup interjected.

“They’re too small. And I’m not skating anymore.” Blossom’s eyebrows bunched up almost angrily.

“Bull!” BC nearly threw the pants she was holding. “You can’t just stop!”

“I’m retiring.” Blossom explained.

“But you can’t!” Bubbles held the skates out. “It’s your passion, Blossy!”

“It _was_. Before all this.” She corrected with a frown. “I can’t even walk now. How will I skate?”

“There’s therapies!” Buttercup finally dropped the pants. “There’s people who recovered from this in four months, I’d bet good money you’d be back in two!”

“I can’t,” Blossom’s eyes threatened to let the tears go. “I’m weak, BC. There’s no way I can do it.”

“This is some bullshit. This is some. Bull. SHIT.” Buttercup's voice rose.

“ _Language_.” Blossom hissed.

“You can’t just give up! You can at least get back on your feet!”

“ _I can’t!_ ” Blossom lost her temper and shouted. “I can’t win anything without Dexter! And if I can’t do that, then... then what’s the point? I can’t... I can’t do this, I really can’t. I can’t even take care of myself! I’ll... I’ll hire a support worker and I’ll retire from skating here...”

Tears piled up in the corners of her eyes, and Buttercup stopped. She was still angry, but she could see the pain her red-headed sister was in. Blossom never gave up – and here she was, talking about support workers and retirement, at only twenty-one years old. It hurt Buttercup to even think about it. She stormed out to grab her coffee, while Bubbles and Blossom figured out where to put the skates.

* * *

“Hey, honey.” The Professor waved at her over the counter. “What’s up?”

Buttercup plopped down on the couch in the open-space living room, arms crossed furiously. Knowing what she looked like when she was mad, the Professor didn’t press the matter. Instead, he handed his daughter her coffee and went off to give the other two theirs.

Buttercup’s nose scrunched up at the hot beverage when it burned her tongue. She left it on the coffee table and spread out on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Blossom, of all people, was giving up. Rage filled her up at the thought. The one person, who never gave up on anything and anyone, was retiring. Her retirement from skating wasn’t what made her mad – Blossom could try anything and excel at it – but the fact that she wouldn’t even try to walk again was absolutely enraging. She could tell Blossom was upset. And because she was upset, Buttercup was, too. She was sure that Bubbles was as well, but the little ray of sunshine wouldn’t let it show.

_Dexter fucking McPherson._

It was all because of him.

* * *

“Are you totally sure you don’t need anything else? Anything we could help with?” Bubbles asked for the umpteenth time as Blossom led them out of her apartment.

“Yes, Bubs, I’m totally sure,” she laughed.

“Okay then.”

The Professor put on his hat. “I’ll try and find you a caregiver as soon as possible. Don’t forget to take your pain meds!”

“I won't. Thanks, dad. Oh, by the way,” before he could move away, Blossom pulled something from the pocket of her pants and quietly added, “I want you to have this.”

He looked into her palm – her signature pink ribbon. Some crumpled copy of a smile played on his lips, and the Professor curled her fingers around it again.

“And I want you to keep it.”

Blossom’s eyebrows knitted together, but she said nothing.

They leaned down to give her a warm hug before leaving.

When the door shut behind them, Bubbles turned back to it, and Buttercup could sense her worry.

“Do you think she’ll be fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, stop making a big deal out of it.” Buttercup shrugged, pushing back the fact that she was just as anxious.

Professor Utonium hugged them as they entered the elevator. “Girls, I am as worried as you are. But we have to accept, it’s her decision to make.”

Bubbles slouched her shoulders. _And what if it was a bad decision?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is short for a reason, expect another one soon >:3


	3. Bubbles Takes Matters Into Her Own Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything catches up to them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the angst is heavy in this one

“I’ll see you guys later! Bye!” Bubbles waved as she skipped to her apartment building.

“Bye, sweetie!” The Professor waved back as he started the car again.

Buttercup shifted in her seat. With her arms crossed tightly and her legs hugged up to her seat, the Professor could tell something was on her mind. Still, he wouldn’t prod – if something upset her, she would say so herself. She didn’t like being questioned. Instead, he focused on the road ahead as he drove to her apartment downtown.

“We can’t let her give up,” she voiced, noticing the first raindrops falling on the car’s windshield.

Professor Utonium sighed at his ever-determined daughter. He agreed, but... “We can’t do anything about it.”

“Why?!” She tried to watch her tone, but still failed. The Professor understood, and didn’t mind.

“She doesn’t want to, Buttercup. We can’t persuade her.”

They came to a stoplight, and he tapped the steering wheel.

“We could at least try and talk to her about it seriously!” Buttercup slammed her hand against the window, leaving a foggy mark where she touched.

“I tried! She won’t accept it! You know how she is – face it, honey, she’s given up! If she doesn’t want to go to a PT, she doesn’t have to!”

“So you’re supporting her now?!”

“I’m not, I-...” He trailed, racking his brain for the right thing to say. “I want her to be happy, but she won’t be happy if we pressure her. And it’s bad because I’m afraid she’ll be even less happy if... she never walks again, like she says. Whatever we say, we could upset her.”

Buttercup sighed. “This is all because of that stupid motherf-”

“ _Language_.”

“No! I don’t care!” Butter punctuated her shout with a hit of the dashboard. “He is a _stupid motherfucker_ for leaving her like this. Blossom is there, shattering, blaming herself, and he just up and _leaves her_?! He leaves her _when she needs him most?!_ If he hadn’t left her, she would be going to physical therapy right now! She would be getting better! She wouldn’t be giving up!”

A long silence followed, and the Professor wordlessly approved.

He patted her on the back once they arrive. Still frustrated, Buttercup waved him goodbye, and he drove off to his laboratory.

She took the elevator of the building for the first time in a while. Buttercup only used it when she was so tired, going by stairs was torturous. Didn’t help that her apartment was on the second-to-top floor.

Upon entering, Buttercup remembered the meeting she needed to schedule with her “partner” for the contest. The contact number was still in her phone, but it was unnamed. She swallowed, hoping eight wasn’t too late to call. Pacing around her apartment, she waited for them to pick up.

“Hello?” A scratchy, guttural male voice answered. _It’s not bad on the ear,_ she admitted to herself.

“Hello, am I speaking to Buck Jojo's manager?”

“No, you’re speaking to the dude himself.” There was a lilt of humour in the statement. “And it’s Butch, by the way.”

“ _Oh_.” _Why was she embarrassed?_ “Sorry. This is Buttercup Utonium, I was told to call this number and set up a meeting?”

“Ayyy, good for you.” He sounded pretty laid-back.

This was unusually refreshing – he didn’t seem as uptight as people she used to work with before. She dug it.

“So, Butts, when and where?”

‘Butts?’ _Nevermind._

* * *

Bubbles was greeted by her boyfriend, covered almost entirely in paint and glitter. She couldn’t help but laugh at the hilariously silly image. Her boyfriend, the whole 6’2” of him, messy blond hair, blue sweater and black jeans, looking like someone dropped a kids' arts and crafts set over him.

“Baby!” Boomer beamed at her, preparing to, quite literally, sweep her off her feet.

“No, no, no!” She giggled, arms struck out to stop him. “You’re too dirty!”

“I don’t care!” He moved in, picked her up and spun her playfully. Boomer liked the sound of her laughter.

When he put her back down, she was as glittery and paint-covered as he was. Bubbles feigned sadness.

“Oh look what you did!” She leaned in for a kiss, and Boomer was happy to oblige.

“No regrets.” He chuckled, shuffling away to take off his sweater and put it in the laundry bin.

“How’s your brother?” Bubbles asked and tossed him her jacket, since he got it dirty.

Boomer caught it and shook his head. “You won’t believe this – Buzz _bit a leg off a chair_.”

“Oh my God,” Bubbles tossed her head back with laughter as she walked to the kitchen. “How did he even- What the heck?”

“I don’t know,” Boomer snickered, “But I bet big bro’s landlord would _love_ to know, since she gave him his two weeks’ eviction notice two days ago.”

“Whoop.” Bubbles drank a glass of water. “Well, it’ll probably work out.”

“Yeah, he’s a clever dude...” He paused. “And how’s your sister?”

“Still a little pessimistic.” She said as she put down the glass and made her way to the beanbag chair in their living room.

“A little?” Boomer looked at her over his shoulder.

“... Okay, yeah, a lot.” She plopped down on it, bringing her knees to her chest. “But I don’t know what to do about it anymore! Blossy is just...”

Boomer dropped down next to her, his arm already around her shoulders. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, she tried to find the right explanation. He patiently waited, playing with strands of her hair.

“Blossy is so talented and wonderful, and I wish I could help her, but it feels like I only make things worse...” she pouted; her fingers tapped against his chest.

His hand found hers and he laced their fingers.

“... Maybe you can’t help her, but someone else can?” He kissed the top of her head.

“But _who?_ Her boyfriend left her, and we can’t convince her to go to a PT!” Bubbles looked up at him, her voice terribly brittle.

He shrugged. “But maybe someone else can convince her to go to a PT? Someone she looks up to?”

Bubbles’s eyebrows reached the top of her forehead as her eyes lit up. “BOOMIE, you’re a GENIUS!”

She leapt right off the beanbag chair, leaving Boomer to wonder why exactly he was a genius. The number was still in her phone, thank God. Bubbles waited out the ringing.

“Hello?” The ladylike voice spoke from the other line.

“Hi, Ms. Keane! It’s Bubbles Utonium!”

“Bubbles, darling! Hello! What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering, can we meet up tomorrow? I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Oh! Sure! How about eleven at the TSS's ice arena? That’s when my junior morning practice ends.”

“Perfect! Thank you so much, Ms. Keane.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. See you then!”

Hanging up, she felt a pair of well-known arms snaking around her waist. Well-known, _paint-covered_ arms. There goes another shirt to the laundry bin...

* * *

Once they left, Blossom stayed alone in her apartment. It wasn’t unusual for her to be alone, but being alone _here_ was different. She was alone in crowded spaces, halls, arenas, and very rarely in her apartment. When she was here, it was only for as long as she had between training sessions and competitions. Blossom treated her apartment like a hotel room.

Getting around the place would be bothersome with a wheelchair. She’d have to get used to the strain of pushing the wheels and the squeaky sound they made on the floor underneath her. Luckily, she would hire a caregiver soon.

Blossom went back to her room. The warm lights of the street broke between the white curtains. Shadows stood still, and she thought that they very appropriately cast themselves over her wall-shelf of awards. That was luck, too – she didn’t want to look at them. But sadly for her, it was like their overcast gold called to her, like it was staring at her. Uneasiness crawled up her back, and she turned away as quickly as she could.

Propping herself up by the arms, she pulled herself up to the bed and changed into the pajamas her sisters had left there for her. Pulling the bottoms over her legs proved to be a bigger task than she’d expected, but it was something she’d probably have to get used to as well. Her hand wiggled into the pocket of her sweatpants again, finding the ribbon. She examined it for good measure, and then put it in the nightstand's drawer. Blossom didn’t want to see it. _She wouldn’t want me to wear it now..._

Once done, she just lay in bed and stared between the curtains. It was too early to sleep, but she felt exhausted. Not exhausted like someone who hasn’t slept in a while and ran a couple miles, but like someone whose only dream in life was taken from them.

What she felt was more than disappointment. A pain she couldn’t quite place weighed down on her, and she felt like she’d let everyone around her down. The weight felt cold and all-consuming. She thought back to this morning and her family at her place, fighting the idea that she felt... lonelier, somehow. And to her, loneliness was weakness.

But the loneliness could be described in a single sentence. _Dexter isn’t here_.

She’d ask herself why he would leave, and every time, she’d find the same answer. What was the use of staying, if they couldn’t win gold together? It was all they ever wanted. If Dexter stayed, it would be taking any chance of winning from him. He had to train – he had to win. Blossom thought that, if she loved him, she should be happy for him. That she should be happy he was going after his goals, because that was what she always wanted him to do. _So why did it hurt so much when he left?_

But she loved him. And it hurt more she would have thought.

 _He didn’t love me enough to stay, so whether I walk or don’t walk anymore doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t love me enough to stay if I couldn’t compete anymore. So I won’t compete anymore,_ she concluded soundly, and resisted another wave of tears.

Her eyes wandered to her phone on the nightstand. Was it too late to answer now...? Maybe if she texted or called or answered, maybe he would...

Suddenly disgusted at herself, she dug her fingernails into her thighs, begging whatever deity she could think of to feel something other than this cold loneliness. Other than missing Dexter. She scratched until the skin was raw and red, but to no avail. Blossom felt none of it. _Why couldn’t she?_ Her thoughts roam to the moment he threw her, but there was only a flash of white, and the cold, cold ice beneath her. She heard him scream her name, and she remembered – _it isn’t his fault. I fell_.

She tried curling up in the middle of the bed and, as if it was so perfectly aligned for her to see (and it was), the empty space on the shelf of awards across from her bed stared back. There stood the space that was supposed to hold the World Championship of Figure Skating gold, as empty as she felt right then.

_You can’t win anything without me, Blossom._

Blossom shut her eyes tight, nails digging into her forearms, and tried not to cry herself to sleep. As if to further her own disappointment, that is exactly what she did.


	4. Medals And Ribbons, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bubbles makes a deal, and Robin steps in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all deserve a Robin tbh

The following morning, Bubbles waited for her in the Townsville Skating Society’s ice arena. She would be done soon. A part of the front row seats were occupied by Townsville's hockey team, _the Townsville Rottweilers_ , who were waiting for their training. Giving them a once-over, Bubbles found their name befitting. Bulky, towering, muscular guys, wearing their signature blood-red jerseys really did look like a pack of wild dogs.

 _No, thank you,_ Bubbles preferred her Boomie to all of them.

Her eyes wandered to the rink. Fifteen – _fifteen_ – young skaters moved around gracefully. Each of them practiced their figures with such determination in each stride, Bubbles wondered how they all looked to be six to thirteen years old. She vaguely remembered the skating society having much less participants, especially such young ones. In fact, when Blossom still trained under Ms. Keane, there had only been only four of them. Bubbles smiled – could it be that her sister’s success influenced this pleasant change?

She could hear Ms. Keane before she could see her – the coach had the voice of a military commander when she worked. It made Bubbles laugh, knowing the woman generally wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yet here she was, yelling out criticisms from behind the railing.

“C’mon, Cooper, raise that leg higher! ...Anna, pick up speed before you jump, you’ll fall if you go into a Salchow that slow!” followed by what Bubbles recognized as her signature phrase.

“That gold won’t fall around your neck by itself!” she mouthed it just as Ms. Keane said it.

The holo-blue of her jacket must have caught Ms. Keane’s attention, since she checked her watch and realized they got carried away. “Alright, people, we're done! In two days, same time, same place! See you then.”

The woman waved them off as a chorus of goodbyes followed her. _The Townsville Rottweilers_ shuffled in their seats, waiting for the skaters to exit the rink. It was their turn now.

Ms. Keane approached Bubbles with a hug.

“Hello, Ms. Keane! How are you?” Bubbles smiled into the shorter woman’s shoulder.

“Pretty good, and you, darling?” She pulled away.

“Heh, actually, I’m in a bit of a pickle right now. That’s why I called you...”

“Oh! Of course! Where do you want to talk about it?” Ms. Keane steepled her fingers in a strangely motherly fashion.

“Anywhere is good, really.”

After Ms. Keane looked around, the two found their way to the seats a bit off the exit. _The Townsville Rottweilers_ passed them by as they moved to their dressing rooms. Ms. Keane was listening, even though her eyes are glued to the rink.

“You know what happened to Blossom, right?” Bubbles began with a concerned voice.

“Yes,” she answered in a monotone, “Your father called me the very night it happened.”

“And you know that she wants to retire?”

“Yes, what about that?”

Bubbles stared at the ground. “Buttercup and I can’t let her do that.”

Ms. Keane’s eyes darted to her. Bubbles shivered at the similarity of her expression to Blossom’s, when she'd told them about retirement - a combination of sadness and determination. After a pause, Ms. Keane replied, her voice shivery like she was scared.

“We can’t tell her what to do, Bubs, it’s her decision.”

Her lips formed a tight line. “Ms. Keane, she doesn’t even want to walk anymore.”

Apparently, Ms. Keane didn’t know _that_ part of the story, judging by her shock.

“What?! Why?” Her hands snapped against the seat’s armrest.

“She thinks even trying to walk is useless if she can’t skate to win gold in the World Championships.” Bubbles fiddled with the sleeves of her jacket.

“Who said she can’t?” Ms. Keane’s eyebrows twitched, she was intrigued.

“I don’t know. She says she can’t win anything without Dexter.”

Ms. Keane worried her bottom lip with her thumb as she thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let her try out for partnership with him... If she could, Ms. Keane would have gone back and let Blossom’s career as a single figure skater bloom. However, about a year ago, when it was announced that Dexter McPherson, THE Dexter McPherson, was looking for a skating partner, the opportunity couldn’t have been missed. It was “a one-way ticket to championships”, as Blossom dubbed it. And, apparently, it was a one-way ticket to this disaster.

Rises to fame, rises to air, and falls to the ice all led here. If only they hadn’t gotten romantically involved... Ms. Keane shook her head – it was too late for what-if’s, and even then, their relationship was none of her business.

All she knew is that Blossom had to walk again, and that their Ice Queen needed to come back.

“And what can I do about it?” Ms. Keane raised an eyebrow.

Bubbles gave her a small, hopeful smile. They were on the same page. “Well, being her first coach and all, I was thinking that maybe you could talk to her about it.”

“About skating or walking?”

“Either, or even better, both.” Bubbles answered.

“...And what if I can’t convince her?”

“If you can’t do it, no one can,” she shrugged. “It’s enough just to convince her to go to a PT. I think the skating thing will sort itself out.”

Ms. Keane rose from her seat, hands pocketed. “Well then, I’ll do it.”

Hearing that, Bubbles practically jumped from her seat. “Really?! You will?!”

“With pleasure.” Ms. Keane was enveloped in one of Bubbles’s famous bear-hugs. She laughed and hugged her back. _Blossom has some wonderful sisters._

* * *

Blossom woke up later than she usually does. Much, _much_ later. By one o'clock, she’d usually have done her exercises and sprinted to the closest coffee shop for her cappuccino. Yet she was still in bed, last night’s bitter feeling still weighing down on her and not letting her get out. She thought her face felt weird, and remembered how she cried. It frustrated her.

 _Okay, at least you’ve let it all out_ , Blossom gave herself credit for that, _now let’s get up._

Another thing that turned out to be difficult – it would’ve been easier if someone helped her a little. She was mad at herself for thinking about that – _I don’t need anyone’s help_.

Managing to get herself back into her wheelchair, she'd decided it was going to be a pajama day and moved to the kitchen. Homemade coffee, it was.

But before she could start the coffee machine (the one she barely used because one – the coffee it made tasted like tar and two – she wasn’t around much to use it), Blossom realized all her coffee cups were in the high cabinet above her sink. The Professor washed some of them yesterday and put them all back in their place instinctively, without thinking. Neither of them realized that it would turn into a problem later. She resisted a face-palm and thought of what to do.

She _could_ call one of her neighbors to help, but she didn’t know them well, and she didn’t want to bother them. The people were probably at work, anyways.

Blossom considered calling her sisters instead, yet didn’t want to bother them, either.

Right when she thought about forgetting it entirely, her phone rang. She smiled at the well-known picture above her caller's ID. Robin Snyder.

“Hey Robin!” she picked up.

“Hey girl! Wanna go get some coffee and catch up?”

She sounded as optimistic as ever. Blossom realized she really missed her. Opening her mouth to say ‘yes’, she looked down and realized. Her mouth twisted uncomfortably.

“I’d love to, but I uhh... I have a bit of a problem, Robbie,” she ground her teeth.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t get out of my building like this.”

“What do you mean?” Robin asked, and suddenly caught herself. “Oh no, wait, I get it! I’ll be over in a bit, just you wait!”

“What?! Wait, Robbie, don’t-”

Before Blossom could protest, the line went dead. She laughed at her situation, and hoped Robin wouldn’t do anything rash. Then again, the other part of her hoped she was being serious about coming over.

Letting that part take over, she went to her room and changed. _Can’t have guests over in pajamas_ , Blossom thought as she opened the closet she’d organized with her sisters yesterday. Her eyes drifted to the sweater Bubbles had mentioned, and she put it on with curiosity. A pair of black leggings went well with it, and she looked at herself in the long mirror at the side of her bed.

By the looks of it, Dexter just had terrible taste. Bubbles was right – it did look good on her. Blossom smiled and flapped the oversized sleeves playfully. It was warm and comfortable, not to mention cute. She forgot where she’d bought it, but she was glad she had it now.

Moments after she was done, she could hear the doorbell ring. Blossom carefully opened it, and was greeted with the familiar grin of an old friend.

Robin almost knocked them both over with how hard she leapt to hug Blossom.

“I missed you.” She said as she pulled away. “I came to pick you up, are you ready to go?”

“Uhh...” Blossom’s new-found insecurity kicked in when she smiled awkwardly, “Can’t we have some coffee here?”

“Nonsense!” Robin closed the door as she entered. “Why would we? You know, _Coffee Believe_ moved! They’re just a few blocks away now!”

“I don’t know, Robbie...”

As if on cue, Robin tensed, the problem hitting her.

“Blossom, are you self-conscious?”

Blossom’s shoulders flinched upwards, and while she denied it, Robin could tell she was right.

“No, it’s not that, I just thought, you know-”

“Blossy,” Robin put her hands on her shoulders, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The redhead could feel tears sting her eyes, but she resisted them harder than ever before.

“I’m not ashamed of being in a wheelchair,” she said, her voice wavering in a way she didn’t want it to, “I’m scared of people staring... seeing it... seeing _me_ as... as...”

“As lesser than?” Robin lifted her chin, comforting blue eyes meeting glistening pink ones.

“Yes,” Blossom finally agreed, and a single tear escaped her left eye unbidden. Robin held her.

They stayed in that hug for a moment. Blossom’s hands twisted into her friend’s shirt, as if she’d disappear any second. Brushing a stray strand of hair from Blossom’s face, Robin pulled away and took her hands in her own.

“I know you’re upset and all, but I have to ask - people always stared at you in public before, right?”

Blossom shrugged. “Well, yeah, kind of.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re a _celebrity_ , Bloss. And a really good-looking one at that.” Robin sent a cheeky wink her way.

Blossom stifled a laugh.

With a satisfied smile at her lips, Robin continued. “And when they did, have you ever let people staring stop you from doing what you want before? I’m talking getting coffee, hanging out, travelling...”

“...No...?” Blossom replied.

“Then that shouldn’t stop you now, either.”

It wasn’t exactly like the sky cleared or suddenly everything made sense, but Robin had had an obvious point. Whether she was in a wheelchair or not, people would stare. She thought she’d dealt with that way earlier, but the anxiety didn’t seem the same. Still, like before, she wouldn’t let it get in her way. Blossom wiped away that pesky tear from earlier, and thought for a second. When Robin stood up straight, her fingers slid through her wavy brown hair with a hint of embarrassment.

“Of course, that’s just me talking. I don’t wanna pressure you into going, that was just a lil positivity, y’know. And if you want to have some coffee here, I don’t mind us staying-”

Blossom interrupted Robin’s nervous rambling with a giggle.

“Let’s go to _Coffee Believe_ ,” she said.

“You’re sure?” Robin couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Robin put her thumb under her chin and eyed her hair questioningly. “Hm, I don’t think you’re ready just yet.”

“What do you mean?” Blossom raised an eyebrow.

“Come with me,” Robin led the way to Blossom’s room, remembering where it is from the occasional visits and watering her plants.

Blossom followed, only to find Robin looking through her drawer of accessories. She could hear her muttering “where’s the darn thing, I swear,” and instantly knew what she was looking for.

“You’re looking for the ribbon?” she asked.

“Yeah, where’d you put it?” Robin raised her head from above another drawer.

After a pause, Blossom confessed, rubbing her arm shakily. “I don’t want to wear it right now...”

Shutting the drawers, Robin dropped the subject as if it had never even transpired. “Okay then, let’s go!”

Her enthusiastic tone picked up Blossom’s mood. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“That sweater looks great on you, by the way.”


	5. Medals And Ribbons, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buttercup meets her partner, and Blossom meets someone else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think BC speaks for all of us in this one
> 
> * tw: offensive ableist language

Buttercup checked the time on her phone. 2:13 p.m. She'd arrived to the spot late, _fashionably_ late, but he was running even later. Being irresponsible was only fun if there was someone responsible to annoy you about it.

Townsville’s main square was less crowded than usual. Leaning on the railing of the fountain, Buttercup stretched, figuring it will be a long wait. She was gonna give him _so_ much shit for it.

_Ugh._

This spring was unusually cold, especially since it was the end of March. But of _course_ it had to rain yesterday and of _course_ Buttercup had to wear a leather jacket instead of an actual warm jacket. Hey, where was the aesthetic in that? If the Professor were there, he would've nagged her incessantly about it. But oh, well.

Standing in the foggy main square was like watching the world go by in slow motion. The water of the fountain was nowhere to be heard – it was still turned off. No street musicians were there to liven up the place. People walked quickly, with purpose, cold hands and runny noses. Standing like that, alone, unmoving, while the world went by, felt powerful to Buttercup. More than that, it felt inspiring. It inspired her to make something to fill the world’s silence.

Waiting, however, did not. It only pissed her off.

One could only imagine just how pissed off she was when a disgusting red-headed figure passed her by without as much as a hello. The wheels of his suitcase made some nasty, creaking sound. He was trying to speed up as not to let her notice him.

_Oh, no you don’t. Sorry, Bloss._

“Hey, you.” She turned on her heel to face him.

Dexter stopped dead in his tracks, turning to her with an obviously faked smile. “Hey there, BC.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” she said, more like a statement than a question.

Buttercup bared her teeth when he scratched his head with an awkward smile; he was acting like a guilty puppy trying to get the owner to stop being mad with its cuteness. _He is anything but cute_.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his glasses were getting foggy.

“I don’t know what you said to her,” Buttercup stepped forward, “but you fucking broke her.”

“It’s none of your business,” his reply was cold.

“It’s my _sister’s_ business,” she corrected him, “and that’s close enough for me.”

“Blossom can’t skate anymore. And she can’t win gold, either.”

“Was she anything other than a shiny medal to you?!” Buttercup spat out the words “shiny medal” as if they were the most poisonous thing in the world.

“Buttercup, I-”

“How could you throw her away like that? Don’t you feel even a _tinge_ of guilt for what you did?”

“I didn’t throw her-” He lifted his hands when she moved closer.

“You didn’t even love her enough to stay with her through this! If you did, she would be…”

She trailed, holding back even though she wanted to give him a mouthful. Blossom wouldn’t like that.

He got shockingly quiet. Buttercup could see her breath. She collected herself, thinking her job was done. That was when she remembered – at the time of the accident, they were only together for three months. Despite knowing each other for a year because of training, the two were taking it slow. But three months… still felt like such a short time, and a horrible thought passed through her mind.

“… Did you even love her in the first place? Or was it the promise of gold that drew you to her?” Her hands formed pulsating fists.

Her questions stayed hanging in the air as he made no attempt to reply.

“Answer me, motherfucker, or I’ll make you shit teeth for weeks,” she shouted, but, still no reply.

 _Dexter fucking McPherson_ was about to leave.

Buttercup swung her fist as wildly as possible. It lodged right under his jaw – a classic sucker punch. His glasses fell to the ground.

The sound of Dexter’s teeth gnashing together like that was more satisfying than she’d expected. But Buttercup learned her self control.

He stumbled backwards, cradling his chin and wincing in pain. If he’d wanted to say anything, it was too late now. And frankly, Dexter looked too terrified to even try. He picked up his glasses and suitcase, scrambling off without a second glance in her direction.

“There’s more where that came from, you piece of shit!” She yelled after him. “Try and come near her again! I’ll break more than just your teeth!”

Buttercup ended up panting to cool off. Damned if he didn’t deserve more.

The sound of footsteps announced that she was not alone anymore.

“Wow, you sure did a number on him. Guess I’d better not fall on your bad side,” a deep voice from behind her took up her attention.

She turned, only to find a tall figure dressed in black. His green eyes and mischievous smile showed his approval.

“You’re late,” Buttercup hissed, eyes lingering just a little too long on his snakebite piercings.

He laughed heartily, throwing his head back. “Didn’t wanna interrupt his ass beating. _And_ it’s called being fashionably late.”

_Touché._

The guy offered his hand with a joking, flourishing bow. “Butch Jojo, at your service.”

“Buttercup Utonium.” She shook his hand with the most confident grip she could manage. Her knuckles were still jittery from the hit.

“Ah, so _you’re_ Butts!” Butch muffled a laugh.

… maybe first impressions weren’t so wrong.

She suppressed a groan and asked him where they were going. Butch told her there was a private studio he always rented out to work on his projects, that maybe they should start there. And so, off they went. They discussed their terms on the way there.

* * *

A short walk later, Blossom and Robin reached the coffee shop. The usually crowded café wasn’t as full, seeing as it was only half past two. Robin pushed Blossom gently to the counter. Surprisingly, Blossom’s nerves weren’t so on edge about staring. People certainly did stare, but she tried brushing it off with what little confidence she now had.

“Hello, welcome to _Coffee Believe_! What can I get for you?” said the smiling cashier.

“Hi, I’ll have a cappuccino and a cheesecake.” Blossom listed off her usual order.

“I’ll have a mocha,” said Robin, glancing around the coffee shop for a place to sit. She spotted a nice one by the window overlooking the quiet street.

“Alright. Please take a seat, one of our servers will be there shortly." The bright cashier tapped out their order.

After thanking him, Robin suggested the spot she’d found, and Blossom agreed.

They settled there, and Robin off-handedly joked about how cute the cashier was. Blossom laughed it off, she wasn’t much for blonds. The topic switched to something else when their server brought out their orders.

“How’s college treating you?” Blossom asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Pretty good so far, law school isn’t exactly exciting.” Robin tapped her nails against her cup. “What’s up with Butters and Bubs? Haven’t heard from them in a while.”

“Really?” Blossom’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Well, Bubbles is preparing a fashion show in a few weeks, and Buttercup entered a contest for a contract with _YTR._ ”

“ _Young Townsville Records_?! Are you serious?!” Robin’s hands slammed against the table. “Damn! That’s gonna be awesome!”

“You know them?”

“Oh, no, they’re just the dudes thanks to which you’ve got _half the radio_.” She laughed sarcastically. “You name ‘em, they’ve worked with _YTR_. They’re basically the go-to for any rising artist in our area.”

“Wow, BC’s hitting it bigger than I thought, then.” Blossom took a bite of her cheesecake. Pointing to her dessert with her spoon, she asked Robin if she wanted some.

“No, thanks,” Robin took another sip of her mocha. “It’s funny though, lately all they’ve been putting out is some pop-rock and rap stuff – not much of the indie-rock, punk style they used to. Never thought Butters would be into that.”

“Maybe she isn’t, but who knows? If she signs it, she can do whatever she wants with that contract, right?” Blossom suggested, even though she’d wanted to switch the subject. Yesterday’s quarrel left her feeling bittersweet when talking about Buttercup.

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged, dropping the subject as if she’d read Blossom’s mind. “What about you? Any plans for now?”

“Heh, plans.” Blossom leaned back a bit in her wheelchair. “ _Plans are overrated, ‘cause you never really know where you’re going_ _._ ”

“There's a thing I never thought I'd hear from you,” Robin chuckled.

“I don’t know, really,” she smiled, and gladly, Robin dropped that subject too. “Soo… Anything exciting _outside_ of college?”

“Pfft,” she snorted, “The most exciting thing in the past few months is that cashier eyeing me funny.”

They turned to look at him again. The cute blond cashier’s eyes smiled at them, and he sent a subtle wink in Robin’s direction. Blossom covered her mouth in an ‘ooh’ fashion and grinned at her friend cheekily.

“Think I should talk to him?” Robin’s cheeks were dusted with a pretty shade of pink.

“Definitely!” Blossom nudged her.

“You won’t mind if I leave you there for a second?” Robin asked.

“Of course not! Go get ‘em, girl,” her redheaded friend encouraged her, and Robin squeezed her hand before leaving the table.

Blossom sipped her coffee and watched the exchange between her best friend and the blond cashier. From the looks of it, they seemed to have chemistry. Both of their cheeks were flushed – how cute. Robin batted her eyelashes. Blossom’s coffee suddenly tasted more bitter, but she fixed it with another bite of her cheesecake.

She focused, instead, on this new interior. _Coffee Believe_ used to be about five blocks away from here – she was glad they moved closer. Like before, the café’s look was based on those 80’s diners you’d see in cheesy romantic comedies. Except this time, she had to admit, it was composed better. A touch of modernity took its place, yes, but it was still as welcoming as ever, even in this new space.

“Well, well,” a high-pitched voice cooed behind her, and she immediately recognized it. _There goes the welcoming part_. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

A stink of smoke and more perfume than showers announced Princess Morbucks before Blossom even turned around to see her. She went back to picking at her dessert, trying her best to ignore her.

“What’s the matter? Can’t _stand up_ for yourself?” The wannabe Barbie sat in Robin’s seat, and Blossom no longer had where to look. “A shame, really. Daddy was considering sponsoring you, would’ve been quite the offer… even though you’re worthless on your own.”

Rolling her eyes, Blossom thought she had no time for this. “Leave me alone, Princess.”

“What? Did McPherson throw out the trash? Or was he just throwing it around the ice for a few months?” Her condescending tone tempted Blossom to shove the cheesecake in her already cakey face.

“What’s going on?” Robin approached again, a sour expression across her face when she saw Morbucks.

“Nothing much, just reminding this little Ice Tramp where she belongs.” Princess stood up, but wouldn’t leave.

Even though she knew Princess was not worth her time, Blossom couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by how tall she looked from this point of view. It… scared her a little.

“Don’t call her that. Leave us alone, Morbucks.” Robin said, pointing her chin to the rest of the café.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Princess sneered, “Piss off, Bird Brain.”

“Enough, Princess.” Blossom raised her hand. “You were here to insult me, you did what you wanted, now please leave.”

Morbucks picked up Robin’s coffee, ready to spill it. “Shut it, you cri-”

Just when word began to form at her mouth, a very quick stranger stood between her and Blossom. His hand knocked Morbucks’s away – the hit was not as strong as she’d made it out it to be. Robin's cup swung out of Morbucks's hand, the coffee spilling over the stranger’s crimson shirt.

“Hey _,_ who the fuck are you?! Do you even know who I am?!” Princess rubbed her wrist in an overly dramatic fashion. Her shoulders tensed as she glanced up and met a pair of glaring red eyes. When he didn’t reply, she didn’t relent.

“You can’t hit women! What kind of man are you?” She screeched and prepared to hit him back, but he caught her wrists again.

His glare only intensified as he leaned in dangerously close. The man’s growl-like voice piqued Blossom’s curiosity. “Good thing you’re not a woman, you’re an asshole.”

Blossom struggled not to reprimand him for foul language, but somehow felt his statement was quite appropriate. The corner of her mouth resisted a curl upwards as she noticed Princess stumble for words.

“Now _leave this girl alone_.” He hissed, basically throwing Princess's wrists down like they were slime.

Princess clearly didn’t need to be told twice. Blossom watched her bolt it out of the coffee shop, and then let her eyes quickly size up the man in front of her.

He was intimidatingly tall and muscular, a rough-around-the-edges looking guy. Blossom was too overwhelmed with embarrassment to try and look at his face, so she decided to keep her gaze down. Luckily, he’d had his back to her. She could see his fingers fumbling with the edges of his shirt, veiny hands dripping with coffee, leading up to sculpted forearms, up to broad shou- _what?_

She mentally slapped herself back to reality. Hearing him grunt and his footsteps going farther, Blossom still refused to look up. He seemed to be in a rush. _Cripes,_ she couldn’t even ask him to let her pay for dry-cleaning or something… This was too embarrassing for her. Thankfully, Robin stepped in.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

It only earned her a half-hearted “yeah, yeah, no problem” from the stranger as he took some paper towels from the counter. Then, he walked out as if nothing had happened.

Robin sat back down and squeezed her hands. “Did you see that?!”

Blossom was almost irritated by the love-struck-teen style squeal Robin gave. _Almost_ – she knew exactly what Robin was talking about. “See what?”

“The dude who defended you! Damn, and I thought I caught a hottie!” Robin whistled lowly.

“What hottie? The guy was just doing the decent thing.” Blossom covered her mouth momentarily. “Um, that is, if hitting someone _can be_ the decent thing.”

“Are you kidding me?! Did you even see him? Did we see the same person?!” Robin waved around frantically like a child telling a story. Looking at her like that was fun.

“Yeah, sure,” Blossom stirred her cappuccino one last time before finishing it.

“Strange… I feel like I know him from somewhere,” Robin took a drink of her mocha.

Blossom hummed in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you know the song Blossom references in this one, i love you


	6. Irreplaceable Blackhearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buttercup and Butch settle their terms, and Blossom watches TV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon: Buttercup sounds like Lzzy Hale of Halestorm  
> (song is "I hate myself for loving you", Halestorm did a cover of it so it was kind of an inspiration)

“Are you for real?” Buttercup entered the studio, eyes open as wide as her mouth.

The soundproof room had a set of drums, three basses, and a keyboard on a platform in the back, several microphones, amplifiers and speakers set up in the corner, with a tall table and barstools by the door. What she assumed was Butch’s drum pad and laptop, as well as piles of paper and pens were left on the table. The place even had a little restroom right off the exit. The space by the table was decorated with that strange abstract art Buttercup never bothered to understand, but she had to admit, it made this place look even more sleek and contemporary. All of it was illuminated by LED strip lights and a large, wide window with a nice view of Townsville’s centre.

Now that it was only around three o’clock, she had to wonder what it looked like at night, with only the lights of the street and the surrounding buildings flickering like stars.

“Yep,” Butch popped the ‘p’ with a shrug. _How the hell did he not find this impressive?_

“How do you even _pay_ for all this?!” BC walked to the middle of the room, arms spread wide.

“DJ-ing at _Joker’s_ pays pretty well, believe it or not.” He took a seat at the table, turning on his laptop.

 _Joker’s?_ “You mean the trashy watering hole for dealers and muggers?” Buttercup laughed as she sat beside him.

“Heh, why do you think it pays well?” Butch nudged her. “What about you? Ever played any gigs?”

She crossed her arms over the table, leaning on it. “Yeah, only small ones though. Not a big people person, ya know.”

“Hm, weird.” His comment made her bristle. “I thought you’d be a mosh-pit chick, based on what you post.”

Buttercup kissed her teeth, and came up with a snarky reply. “Funny, because you’re exactly what I thought you’d be.”

He turned his head with an over-exaggerated angry scowl. “Hey, fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Nothiiing…” She said in a singing voice. “Well, rap dude, what do we do for this album? Any ideas?”

 _Rap dude? Oh no, my_ poor _ego. Come up with something more original, Butts._

Running a hand through his hair, Butch messed with his piercings. “Didn’t think much about that, actually. Figured we’d get to know each other and all, and then get to work or whatever.”

“Hell no.” Buttercup said, somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“What?”

“I am _not_ here to make friends, Jojo, I’m here to win this damn contest and get my contract.” Her finger almost accusatorily pointed to his chest. “It just so happens that I have to collaborate with you for it.”

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa,_ ” He raised his hands. “Hold up. You’re getting waaay ahead of yourself here. All I’m saying is that we’ll be able to work better together if I know you and you know me.”

“And all _I’m_ saying is that what _you’re_ saying sucks.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s better if we keep this professional – I know what you play, you know what I play. We make a couple of songs, we win the contest, we split the contract, end of. None of that friendly shit, I got enough people in my life.”

Butch couldn’t be sure whether she was joking or not. Based on her tone, he guessed she was completely serious. What the hell?

Then again, it kind of made sense. He didn’t even want to collaborate, but since the contest required it, Butch could pull through it. Even if he had to work on such awkward, asocial terms.

“Alright, I’ll just get you a copy of the key and we can work whenever. Got it, Butts?” He concealed a laugh when he saw her hair rise at the nickname.

“Got it. Also, no nicknames.”

“Sure thing, _Butts_ ,” he purposefully repeated himself. Hey, someone had to take the ‘none of this friendly shit’ part seriously! “Do _you_ have any ideas for the album?”

Before she lost all control of her irritation, Buttercup noticed something _very_ interesting about his name. She smirked.

“Actually, _Bitch_ ,” she tried her hardest not to burst out laughing at his expression, “I do.”

Butch crossed his arms. Showing her it bothered him was the kicker – of course he wasn’t gonna give her the satisfaction. Instead, he remained relaxed. “Spill.”

“How about this: you do the vocals and I do the instrumental for one half, and we do the opposite for the other half? We just write our own lyrics.”

His hand rubbed his jaw before he spoke. _Why did that look good, though?_ “Hm, I don’t know about that.”

Buttercup scrunched up her nose. “Why not?”

He met her stare with an equally serious one. “Look, dude, I only play the drums and the drum pad. Do you really think you want _just_ those two as your instrumental?”

_Oh shit. He actually had a point._

Buttercup shrugged. “Then how about we just do the instrumentals together?”

While he thought it through, he stretched in his stool and Buttercup wondered how he wasn’t falling over. His camouflage-print shirt rode up a little and _Buttercup was NOT looking, no sir, no she was not._ “It sounds like way too much work.”

 _Excuse me? Too much work?!_ This was literally splitting the work in half for both of them! Like hell was she going to give him any less! Forget the good jaw thing, he was just a lazy ass. She glowered at him.

His hands suddenly flew up defensively. “Ya know, it’s not that bad of an idea, actually! Let’s do that!”

Humming with approval, Buttercup got up and walked to the bass guitars. Squatting down, one of them caught her eye, and her lips parted in shock.

“IS THIS A FUCKING YAMAHA BB SERIES?!”

Butch dropped next to her and examined it over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t know, I don’t play.”

“Get the amp, Bitch.”

When she plugged the cord into the black bass, her fingers tentatively ran over the four strings. He watched as she tuned each of them until she was happy. His hands rested on his hips when she pulled a well-known riff. _It sounds REALLY good._ She looked so entranced, he couldn’t help but feel a little lost when she stopped.

“Joan Jett and the Blackhearts?” He asked.

“How did you know?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Who _doesn’t_ know that old thing?” Shrugging, he ignored the daggers she glared at him.

Her expression switched to something more sly. “And what would you know about the classics, rap boy?”

“I’m not _just_ a rap boy, Butts. And _I_ would know how to play them.” Butch plopped down behind the drum set.

“Oh, would you?”

“’Course. They’re pretty much the first thing you learn.”

Clacking the drum sticks twice, he raised a challenging eyebrow.

Once he started playing, she joined him on the Yamaha.

He appreciated her energy – he could definitely imagine her concert, with her manic headbanging and jumps. A grin tugged at his lips when he thought of her doing the iconic floor slide. Holy shit, her hair looked _really_ wild. Butch bit his snakebites to resist the ridiculous, not-so-childish urge to pull it _…_

_…What the fuck? No. Professionalism. Annoying her. Shit, think of something else!_

“Sing it, Butts!”

She looked at him over her shoulder. Oh hell, she might as well. “ _Midnight, gettin’ uptight, where are you?!_ ”

 _Goddamn, that’s one hell of a voice._ Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so bad.

* * *

Three days later, Blossom was in her apartment when she received a text from the professor.

_I contacted my colleagues and asked_

_around, but no one seems to know a full-time_

_support worker. Maybe we can ask_

_someone from extended family to help?_

_Or post some ads on FacePlace?_

Read Friday, 03:02 p.m.

I’d rather not bother family. I’ll

check with some friends if maybe they

know someone. Thanks for trying, anyway.

Received Friday, 03:03 p.m.

Blossom turned her phone back off with a sigh. She wouldn’t ask her friends. And she wouldn’t post any ads - FacePlace was out of the question. Despite being unable to do certain things now, she still despised the thought of asking for help. She always did – Blossom always relied on herself first. And she was the person people relied on. The need for help was something entirely new to her.

When Robin took her back to the apartment the other day, it took Blossom all her nerves to ask her to move the cups and plates down from the cabinet. How would she function with a support worker if she couldn’t bring herself to ask for help?

Blossom knew she only needed their help to get around. And she could teach herself that! Blossom didn’t _need_ help!

But, if she _were_ to hire a support worker, they would have to cook. _“Bad”_ was too generous a word to describe Blossom’s cooking.

And she forgot to take her meds yesterday! She would need someone to remind her of that, too.

And just maaaaaybe she would need some help with getting in and out of the shower, and maybe get dressed. The implications of that made her uncomfortable, but there was nothing inappropriate about it. Dry showers could only do so much.

… Okay, yes. Blossom needed a support worker.

 _But_ who _could she ask?_ The Professor did all he could, Blossom couldn’t possibly ask him for more, especially with his age and important research. She wouldn’t ask her sisters because they were as busy as she was, if not more right now. Robin? Robin had uni and stuff. That left her with…

Well, nobody she knew. And Blossom refused to hire a stranger.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she decided that it was enough for today. Some issues had to stay issues – she was going to solve them sooner or later. For now, all she wanted was to calm down. She turned on the TV and, despite promising herself to never watch skating again, Blossom found herself watching the sports channels. The start of April marked the Egna Spring Trophy – and this year, they added the pair routines as well. This was the reprise of last night’s performances, with added interviews.

The routine of the most recent pair came to a dramatic end, but their final score didn’t surpass the top one. Blossom figured – their last few Lutzes ended clumsily, but the step combinations seemed fine. The top score was held by Italy. Silver and bronze went to USA and France respectively. And, lo and behold, the person she wanted to see the least of all appeared on the screen, next to his new partner. She bit her lips, reminding herself that _she should be happy for him_. His partner wasn’t half bad, either – she looked gorgeous, and spoke gracefully when asked anything by the journalists in the kiss and cry booth. Silver shone around her neck. Blossom considered turning off the TV or at least switching the channel, but some strange impulse compelled her to keep watching.

“Mr. McPherson, how are you handling the change of partners?” One journalist asked.

“Perfectly well, actually,” Dexter smiled, eyeing his partner, “Ivy’s everything I could have asked for, she’s irreplaceable, I can’t imagine myself working wi-”

Something broke inside her chest. She couldn’t handle to hear those words, something hurt horribly, and she turned the TV off. _Irreplaceable_. Yeah, he said the same thing to her – look where that took her. _Enough television for today_ , Blossom thought, her lip tightly stuck between her teeth.

 _Ping_.

Her phone’s message tone startled her, and she checked it. A number she hadn’t seen in a long time popped up. Ms. Keane.

_Hello, honey! I was wondering,_

_could I come visit you anytime soon?_

_I haven’t seen you in a hot minute,_

_so I wanted to see how you’re doing :D_

Read Friday, 03:55 p.m.

She smiled down at her phone and typed out a reply.

Hello, Ms. Keane! I’d love to see

you again. Sure, when’s a good time for you?

Received Friday, 03:55 p.m.

_How about tomorrow around 1?_

_I’ll run some errands and call you_

_when I get there._

Read Friday, 03:56 p.m.

Great! I’ll see you then!

Read Friday, 01:55 p.m.

_Wonderful!_

Read Friday, 01:55 p.m.


	7. The News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Blossom made a decision, and Bubbles made... something else

The next day, Blossom got up earlier to tidy up a little before Ms. Keane came over. Even though her capabilities weren’t the same as before, she gave herself credit for even trying at this point. It made her feel better – Blossom always felt good in neat places, and cleaning helped her take her mind off of the… unpleasant things she saw on TV last night. She checked the time – it was almost one o’clock.

Ms. Keane and Blossom parted ways after she’d signed the contract with Dexter’s manager. Since then, they haven’t seen each other much, aside from the occasional chat on the street.

Blossom felt somewhat remorseful for leaving her first coach, especially since she was her best one. The coaches she’d had with Dexter were too… lenient. She was used to hard work, to skating until her knees hurt. With Dexter’s coaches and choreographers, it almost felt like a vacation; and while that was a relief for her knees, it didn’t feel right at all. It wasn’t proper practice. The pair of skaters spent more time going to interviews and photo-shoots than actually training. Now that she looked back on it, Blossom thought that maybe that was their problem…

_I missed her a lot._

Just as the thought crossed her mind, the doorbell rang. She sprung to it excitedly, greeting the chubby woman with open arms.

“Coach!” She exclaimed, but caught herself and corrected. “I mean, Ms. Keane!”

Her former coach smiled at her blushing face. “It’s okay, Blossy. Hello!”

Ms. Keane gave her a hug before Blossom shut the door. “How are you doing lately?”

“I’m doing great, thanks.” Blossom moved to the kitchen. “Please, get comfortable. Would you like some coffee, tea, anything?”

“Oh, whatever you’re having is fine, Little Star.” Sitting down on the living room couch, Ms. Keane was too far away to notice the way Blossom shuddered at her nickname.

“So, how have you been?” Blossom asked, setting up the kettle for some chamomile tea.

“Pretty well, actually!” The coach shrugged happily. “A lot of new people are signing up for figure skating lately.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ms. Keane turned to smile at her, “I think it has something to do with Townsville’s Ice Queen.”

Blossom shifted uncomfortably in her wheelchair. She paused. “May be. Are they any good?”

“Ah, they’re trying, you know…” She covered her mouth with her hand. “They’re a determined bunch, especially the youngsters.”

“That’s good to hear,” Blossom chuckled. She remembered the first time she set foot on ice, and how wobbly her legs were until she’d found her balance.

“Yes, I suppose,” Ms. Keane said, “But let’s be honest, none of them are as good as you were at that age.”

The water boiled in the whistling kettle. Blossom rushed to get it off the stove. “… Do you like sugar or milk in your tea?”

“No, nothing, thank you.” She watched Blossom pour it and stood to take her cup. “Well then, how’s life now? Anything new or interesting?”

“Oh, not really,” Blossom sighed before taking a sip. “Just adjusting to the lifestyle and all. I still need to find a caregiver.”

“Good, good.” Ms. Keane sat back down. “Will you be going to therapy?”

Blossom’s jaw clenched as she narrowed her eyes to the ground. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her former coach.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she finally said, her expression suddenly going blank.

A frown crossed Ms. Keane’s face. “Why not?”

“I don’t…” She bit her lip. “I don’t think I should. I don’t deserve it.”

“’Don’t deserve it?’ What do you mean, of course you do!” Ms. Keane nearly jumped up from her seat. It took all her restraint to stay put.

“I let everyone down!” Blossom snapped, but regretted it when she saw her flinch. She still continued. “And I can’t win anything without… him, with me. So I… I don’t deserve to walk, now that I…” Her voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “Now that I disappointed everyone.”

Slouching in her seat, Ms. Keane reached out a hand towards Blossom’s. The touch was trembling and caring, but there was something Blossom saw in her eyes that was so… skeptical.

“Little Star,” she began, noticing Blossom’s hand shiver, “There’s no such thing as ‘deserving help’ – everyone deserves to be helped with these things. And you didn’t disappoint anyone. It was an accident – accidents happen. And whether you win or lose, those who loved you will still love you.”

“Yes, I know, but-”

“No, you obviously don’t.” Ms. Keane interrupted, brutal honesty flashing in her eyes. “Those who love you want you to stand again. They would want you to keep walking. So would I.”

“But what’s the point? I can’t skate again!”

Even though she was shouting, Blossom sounded so breakable, so fragile. Her eyes were watery, and Ms. Keane hesitated before she spoke again.

“… Blossom,” she said, remaining firm, “you could do anything you want. If you want to walk, you’ll walk again. If you want to skate, you’ll skate again. If you want to be a champion, you’ll be a champion, with or without Dexter. But you won’t be able to do any of that if you don’t _at least_ try. And trying means asking for help and seeing a physical therapist.”

In spite of the hopelessness she felt, Blossom wanted to believe her. Blossom wanted to accept those words and their meaning. She felt like she was drowning in everything that happened up until now, and clung to what she said like a lifebelt.

Ms. Keane’s eyes traced an invisible line from Blossom’s eyes to the floor. “At least try, Blossom. If you don’t succeed, I’ll accept your decision and you can retire without me asking this of you ever again.”

A silence followed. Attempting to act nonchalant, Ms. Keane took a sip of her tea. It was cold now – it didn’t matter. She told her what she had to say. It was up to Blossom to-

“Alright.” Blossom’s lips formed a thin line.

“’Alright?’” Ms. Keane raised an eyebrow.

“Alright,” she repeated with a shivery breath, “I’ll try.”

Blossom followed Ms. Keane with her eyes as the coach got up, knelt by her wheelchair, and took her hands. The touch was firmer than before. Her eyes twinkled with pride and… gratitude, when she looked up at Blossom.

“I’m… I’m so glad,” her voice shook, and she got up to kiss her ex-student’s forehead. The light touch of her lips made Blossom smile.

She could feel her fingers relax under her hands.

When she sat back down, the two women kept drinking their tea. Now that this odd tension was gone, their topic of conversation shifted to mundane, day-to-day things. A short while later, Ms. Keane had to leave, and Blossom politely followed her to the door.

“It was good to see you, Blossom,” she smiled as she put on her coat.

“It was good to see you, too,” Blossom returned her expression. Some swift realization dawned on her, and she stopped the coach. “Wait!”

“Yes? Is everything alright?” Ms. Keane fixed her scarf.

“I wanted to ask,” she said, “do you know any caregivers or support workers around here? I tried asking around, but no one seems to know…”

Putting a hand to her chin in thought, Ms. Keane hummed. “Oh… I don’t think I do, but I’ll ask around, maybe Parker or Jones know someone. Do you have the payment plan figured out?”

“Yeah, I did some research on that,” Blossom said. “Given all my daily needs, I’ll pay them fifteen dollars per hour. About fourteen hours a day. Weekends off, unless I really need something and call them.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be easier to just get them to move in? You might end up needing more help than you think.”

She grimaced. “I don’t think so, but if that happens, I can clear out the extra room here. It doesn’t have a bed, but I can get them one or they can move the unfolding couch from the living room. And I’d pay them if that happens, of course, since they’d basically be on duty even on weekends.”

“Sounds fair,” she replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright,” Blossom gripped the edge of her shirt. “Thank you, for everything.”

As she opened the door, Ms. Keane lifted her chin encouragingly. “You’re welcome, Little Star.”

* * *

“So it worked out?!” Bubbles squealed into the phone, still waiting for the results.

“Yes,” Ms. Keane answered, “She told me she’ll go to a physical therapist, but she still needs to find a caregiver.”

Bubbles paced around the bathroom as she talked. Glancing at the test again, she found it empty. _Still not done._ “Yeah, I figured, I hope she finds one soon.”

“Yes, I’ll check with the other coaches, maybe they know someone.”

“You would do that?!” She jumped. Checked the test again. Empty. “Thank you so, so much!”

She could hear Ms. Keane giggle into the phone. “It’s not a problem, thank _you_ for trusting me with this.”

“You’re welcome. I gotta go now. Thanks again, Ms. Keane! I hope to see you at the show in two weeks!” Bubbles reached for the test again.

“Of course, darling!” _Click._

As she put down the phone, her hands trembled with nervousness and curiosity. Bubbles _never_ missed a period. It had been a little late back in her teen years, but never over a week. Now it had been gone for a _month_. Confusion and impulse-buying a test was the only natural course of action.

She looked at the little screen once more. _Oh God._ Two red lines.

The overjoyed scream could be heard from two apartments away.

Boomer came rushing into the bathroom. “HONEY, WHAT’S WRONG?”

“Boomie!” She hopped up, hiding the device behind her back. “Umm… Cripes, I didn’t have time to think about how to tell you, uhh… Okay. Knock knock.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Who… Who’s there?”

“Daddy.”

“Daddy… who?” His hair rose.

She showed him the test with the widest grin on her face. “Daddy, you.”

His face went from perplexed to astonished to overwhelmingly happy in a manner of seconds. Shakily moving closer to her, his smile began to match hers.

“Are you serious?!” He beamed as he took the test and flipped it in his hands, as though he was making sure it really existed.

“Yes, Boomie.” Her hands cupped his cheeks.

The bathroom was much too small for him to spin her around, so Boomer settled for hugging her as firmly as he could. She squeezed him equally as hard, burying her head in his chest. Even though he was holding her, he bounced up and down like an impatient child.

“I’m gonna be a daddy, I’m gonna be a daddy, I’m gonna be a daaaaaaddy!!!”

Bubbles laughed at his antics. “And I’m gonna be a mommyyyyyy!”

He kissed her forehead, holding her in the gentlest embrace.

Suddenly, Boomer’s head shot up. “Hold on! We have to get married!”

She peered up at him and laughed. “No, not yet!”

“But I wannaaaaa!” Again with the bouncing.

She giggled. “Yeah, me too, but we don’t have to do that immediately!”

“Whyyy?” Boomer dragged out the ‘y’ as he raised an eyebrow.

“BECAUSE!” Bubbles took his hand and guided it to her tummy. “I want them to be the flower carrier!”

He chuckled at her idea, but both worry and excitement still churned in his stomach. “Are you sure? What will the Professor say?”

She smirked. “Don’t worry! I’m sure he’ll be glad! And he said he’d be happy as long as I’m happy.”

Boomer’s hand caressed the space behind her neck. His lips curled into the same smile as before. “Well, are you happy, love?”

Bubbles bumped their foreheads. “I’m the happiest girl in the world.”

Back in their original embrace, Boomer came to another realization. “WAIT! HOLY SHIT! I HAVE TO TELL BUTCH AND BRICK!”

Just as he was about to get to the phone, Bubbles held him back.

“No, wait!” She grabbed his elbow. “I think I have a better idea…”


	8. Of Flat Notes And Bodychecks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch raps and Ms. Keane breaks her nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled The Adventures of A Flat Rapper and An Innocent Coach

“… Got any rhymes for ‘that’?”

Hitting the table, Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Are you fucking serious?”

Butch cocked his head. “What?”

“Have you ever _actually_ written any lyrics?” She clicked her pen.

Since their first meeting, the two met up regularly to write lyrics. Unfortunately for Buttercup, he was pretty clueless when it came to that. This was the fifth time in an hour that the dude asked her if she knew a rhyme for something. _Some rapper you are…_

“Of course I have!” He stammered. She held out her hand, signaling for him to give her his papers.

God help whoever could read this chicken-scratch he called handwriting. Buttercup could only make out some very not-radio-friendly words, the rest of it seemed indiscernible.

“Okay,” she handed him back the paper, “rap for me.”

“The fuck?” His eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Buttercup sat back, relaxed. “Come on, show me what you got.”

“Why?” Butch asked. “I thought you said ‘none of that friendly shit!’”

“I said what I said, Bitch!” She corrected him. “I mean, rap what you just wrote. I can’t read your fucking hieroglyphs.”

“Okay, okay! Chill.”

He started, went for the first three lines, and Buttercup couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

“Hey, what the fuck’s so funny?!” Butch threw his papers at the table, red as a radish.

Buttercup tried to catch her breath, but just ended up wheezing. “You c- hahahaha, hmph,” she tried again and finally cackled out, “You call that rapping?!”

Her laughter was infectious. Butch attempted to keep a serious, offended face as he answered. “Yeah, what about it?!”

After a few odd wheezes and coughs, she regained her composure. “Okay, heh… so here’s the thing – for such a good drummer, you sure have zero beat.”

She instantly regretted the ‘good drummer’ part, but it was good he didn’t seem to notice. Now he was just even more confused and offended. “What are you saying, Butts?”

“I’m saying you’re flat, Bitch. Your lyrics are good, but you sound off-beat.” Buttercup walked to the keyboard and played a single note over and over with the same tempo. “See, you keep doing this. It sounds flat, despite the rhymes you put in.”

“Isn’t that for the instrumental to fill in, though?”

“No, of course not. Instrumental can be just the base, but your rapping needs to follow it, or vice versa.” She played the note again. “Even _with_ the instrumental, you can’t just do this, you’re gonna sound dead. Say some things quicker and some slower, make the words match the beat. With the rhymes you got there, try something like…”

She played the same note two times quickly, paused, did that again, and dragged the fifth play out before finishing the sixth with the same speed as before. “And that’s just the tempo. Add a note change in there, like…”

Buttercup played the same sequence, only adding two more piano keys. “And it already sounds better. Get it?”

The silence and the grimace he made told her he didn’t get a damn thing out of that. Her head fell back as she sighed.

“The way you rap sounds like you’re reading off a list. Like you made some like, shopping list or whatever, and you’re just telling me what you’re gonna buy.” Buttercup sat at the table again, dangling her legs. “You need to give it some energy. Make the audience wanna dance! Or throw up gang signs! Or some shit like that!”

Butch made a very “OH” face. _Thank fuck, he got it._

“So like, I gotta be faster?”

At this point, Buttercup might as well write ‘no’ on her forehead and use it as a button every time he spoke. She sure was slapping it enough for that to happen.

Butch stared as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, Bitch, you need to make your voice follow a beat! Think of a beat in your head, the instrumental you wanna use, and rap to match it!”

_Please tell me that face means he got it._

“Okay, yeah, I think I get what you mean.”

“Try it. Let me hear.” She propped her chin onto her hand.

Butch started over again and, _thank fuck_ , it was not as bad as before. They would still need to work on the beats, but at least he got the basics down. Bobbing her head to his lyrics, Buttercup smiled unknowingly.

“What now, what’s funny?” He stopped.

“Nothing, you’re, uh,” She paused. “You’re good.”

The grin he gave in response made her feel... content.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a text from Blossom.

_Hey. Can you come over on Monday at two?_

_I think we should talk._

Read Saturday, 05:21 p.m.

Reluctantly, Buttercup typed out a response. It took her a few tries to make it sound right. The last time they spoke had been a bit hostile, mostly on her end.

yeah sure

Received Saturday, 05:23 p.m.

_Perfect. See you._

_Oh, also, I’ll invite Bubbles and dad, too._

Read Saturday, 05:23 p.m.

* * *

That Monday, Ms. Keane entered the ice arena for afternoon practice. She was happy to see eager little skaters already waiting there for her. They watched the Townsville Rottweilers’ training session. Today was Parker’s turn for hockey practice, and even though the term was almost over, the man was still barking out criticisms as if he had all day. She wouldn’t normally mind it, except when he got awfully crass in front of her young students.

“James, don’t leave your damn position! You’re not the center!” The old coach slammed his hands against the railing of the rink. He blew his whistle. “Brick, get your shit together! That was a hit from behind!”

“What the hell! No it wasn’t!” A left-wing with the number six on his jersey stopped mid-game to shout back. He swung his hockey stick furiously.

“It was!” Another player – a center? – cackled loudly.

“Shut your trap, Levi!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT YOUR TRAPS AND KEEP PLAYING!” His voice boomed across the rink, and that’s when he noticed Ms. Keane standing behind him. “Hey, Sandra.”

“Discipline issues?” She teased, crossing her arms beside him.

Parker scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

“Your term’s almost over, by the way,” Ms. Keane reminded him.

He cursed under his breath before yelling again. “Alright, you dogs, pack out! I’ll see you in three days!”

Watching the ‘pack’ file out, she took notice of player number six rolling a punch toward the jokester from before. Even as they were exiting the rink, those two wouldn’t quit. One hit, the other retaliated, and it just kept going.

Her commander voice turned on. “Hey, hey, _hey!_ Break it up, you two!”

Parker joined her. The two just wouldn’t stop! They even knocked each other’s helmets off to land heavier punches! It called the attention of their teammates, but of course none of them did anything but stare.

“Take this, you dickhead!”

“Fuck off, Jojo!”

The two coaches ended up having to, quite literally, pull them apart. Ms. Keane grabbed the six as hard as she could and tried dragging him away. She found it hard, being a very light woman, but there was no way she’d let this slide. His messy hair got in her face – she could barely see what she was doing. In this heavy tussle, his elbow somehow ended up meeting her nose. A gross crack caught all their attentions, and they stopped immediately. Ms. Keane fell to the floor.

“What the heck!” She cried as she put a hand up to her face.

“Shit, shit, shit,” the six mumbled, “I’m so sorry, coach Keane-”

“Get away, you dumbass!” Parker fell to her side. “You alright, Keane? Get the fuck to your locker rooms! Jojo, Davidson, stay behind everyone, I’m not done with you!”

The team wordlessly followed his orders. The Jojo guy sent one remorseful look her way, before following the others. Ms. Keane found it interesting, to say the least.

Parker helped her stand. “You good?”

“Yeah, a little dizzy.” Ms. Keane dusted herself off. “You should really work on them, discipline-wise.”

Her colleague ran a hand down his sweaty face. “I’m trying. They’re real pissed lately, we lost four games in a row and they’re all going off the shits about that. I’m sorry, I’ll do something about those two.”

When he noticed blood trickling from her nostril, Parker handed her a tissue from his pocket.

“… Suspend them.”

“Wh-What?”

“Actually, no, you can keep the Davidson guy,” Ms. Keane corrected herself, “The Jojo could be useful to me.”

“You can’t be serious! Listen, Sandra,” he put his hands together in a pleading motion, “he may not seem like it, but Brick is the ace up my sleeve! He’s the best left wing I’ve ever trained! Please, think of something else!”

“Parker.” Her determined tone told him what she wanted to say before she even finished. “He’s too rough, have you seen that? He needs to wind down. Suspension does that.”

“Sandra, he’s not so easily replaced! We can’t go the rest of the season without him! The Stanley Cup is in ten days!”

“Oh, wait, no, no.” Now it was her turn to defend. “I didn’t mean for the whole season!”

“Ah, thank God,” Parker sighed with relief. “For how long, then?”

Ms. Keane thought for a second, before offering her hand. “How about two months?”

He froze up again and let out a groan. “You really won’t let me out of this, will ya?”

She snorted, more blood shot out of her nose, and she shook her head ‘no’. Her hand was still in front of him.

Another groan. “… It’s a deal, then.”

They shook hands. Ms. Keane called her (now terrified) students over, telling them to prepare for the ice. Just as Parker was about to go and chew the players out, Ms. Keane stopped him.

“Oh, and Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“Get some glasses. That really wasn’t a hit from behind, it was a hip bodycheck.”


	9. Hot 'n' Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick is unsure and last names sound quite familiar

Brick huffed as he exited the locker room. He'd never been chewed out like this, let alone suspended! Had coach Parker gone insane?! The Stanley Cup was in ten days! Brick _knew_ they couldn’t play without him! True, they lost the last four games, but still!

If he played the center, they would at least have a chance of winning! And he was negotiating that recently, too! Playing the center would also get him a raise, he would finally be able to pay off that fucking rent! But noooo, Levi just _had_ to piss him off TODAY of all days. Fuck Levi, he sucked as the center, the dude couldn’t score if the entire fucking _rink_ was the goal. _Ugh._

Well, now that he was suspended, what the hell would he do? He was two months behind on rent now, and with Buzz trashing the apartment when he was there alone, it was no wonder the landlord wanted him out. Brick owed the woman around fifteen hundred dollars at this point. With the eviction notice from the other day, he had to find an impossibly fast way to get the money and find a new, cheaper place. And now that he was fucking suspended and jobless, neither option seemed possible.

He remembered Boomer and Butch offered to help him at one point. _Fuck no,_ Brick was no damn freeloader. Even though they were his brothers, he could never imagine himself asking them for anything. It was like an allergy or some shit – he knew how it felt to be relied on for everything, decided to never rely on anyone like that, and here he was. And he was the eldest, too! Of course he wouldn’t. Brick _could_ _not_ ask them for help.

As he walked out into the freezing April weather (what the hell was up with that, anyway?), a cough from his left alerted him to someone else’s presence. He whipped around to see them.

_Ah. Wonderful. If it isn’t the reason I got suspended._

“Mr. Jojo, was it?” Coach Keane uncrossed her arms to offer a hand.

He eyed it wearily before shaking it. “Brick.”

“I think you know who I am,” she smiled.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry about the punch, I didn’t mean to-”

She waved her hands. “Oh no, no, it’s okay! Accidents happen, I’m okay now.”

“Ah. Okay then.”

Brick turned to walk away. He had no time for this. He had jobs to look for. With his duffel bag swung over his shoulder, he made his way to the parking lot.

“Wait!”

_What is it, woman? Got more ways to ruin my life?_

He seethed, stopping to pop the bag into the passenger seat. “Listen, coach, I’m sorry, but unless you know a quick way to get me a job or an apartment, I don’t have time to talk.”

Coach Keane grabbed his shoulder. When he turned around, her smile was somewhere between mischievous and comforting. “Luckily for you, I think I have both.”

Brick froze. Slamming the door shut, he leaned on the roof of his Honda Accord. “You do?”

She crossed her arms like she knew something he didn’t – and she did. “Brick, have you ever thought of being a support worker?”

His jaw set. There was one job he thought would never be offered to him. He swallowed before answering. “No…?”

“Well, I have a close friend who needs one. You may have heard of her. Blossom Utonium, presented USA at the figure skating championships?”

That rang a very, very, _very_ distant bell. Something about the last name… Didn’t his stupid-in-love brother mention it once or twice? Either way, he didn’t watch figure skating, so it didn’t help jog his memory.

“Never heard of her. What’s the job description?”

“Don’t know exactly what she needs, she just mentioned it to me. You’d have to talk about the terms with her.” She lifted a hand. “Fifteen dollars per hour, fourteen hours a day, with weekends off.”

 _Damn._ The offer was nice, but… He still felt awfully uncomfortable. “And the apartment thing?”

“Oh, she’d consider letting the caregiver move in, if needed.” Coach Keane examined her nails. “There’s an extra room in her apartment. No bed, but the couch is foldable. She’d also pay extra for that, by the way.”

Brick swallowed. “And are there any pet restrictions?”

He was reminded of the negotiation he had to have with his current landlord about keeping Buzz. _Never again._

She raised an eyebrow. “… Don’t know about that, you should talk to her about it.”

Quietly, he thought for a moment. On one hand, fifteen bucks an hour was quite the offer. Maybe he’d be able to put an end to his rent-debt misery… On the other hand, it _was_ being a caregiver, and she _was_ a woman – there was bound to be some discomfort, would he be ready for that…?

Before he could answer that question, another one, of much greater importance to him, flashed in his mind.

“Coach Keane, what does she need a caregiver for?” His fingers dug into his palms.

The coach sighed. “I told you, you’d have to talk the terms through wi-”

“No, I mean…” He had trouble phrasing it.

Thankfully, coach Keane seemed to catch his meaning. “Oh, I forgot to mention. She’s currently paralyzed from the waist down.”

_Oh fuck. Hell no. That settles it for good._

Brick pursed his lips, trying to sound as inoffensive as possible. “N-no, thank you,” he managed.

Coach Keane’s eyebrows reached her hairline. “What? Why not?!”

“I’m…” He walked to the driver’s side, the coach following close behind. “I’m not interested. I’m not really one for jobs like that, sorry.”

“Are you sure?” She stood between him and the door with her hands planted on her hips.

Easily moving past her, Brick entered the car and rolled down the window. “Yes.”

“Are you _totally_ sure you won’t change your mind? I’ll give you my number, in case you do!” Her face bordered on desperate, and Brick decided he didn’t like that expression.

He remained headstrong.

“I’m _totally_ sure,” he imitated her tone before driving off.

Ms. Keane stayed confused, standing in the middle of the empty parking space.

* * *

Why did she want her to come over? Did something happen to her? Did the stupid motherfucker tell her about the punch? Because if that was it, Buttercup was _NOT_ apologizing! He deserved that hit, if not more! And she hadn’t even gone all-out like she used to in high school! _Stick an apology up your ass, Dexter!_

Also, why did she invite the Professor, too? What was this gonna be, a lecture session? _Shit, what if he heard about the punch, too?_

Only Bubbles seemed to be a comforting presence.

And why the _hell_ did Buttercup just so happen to be using the elevator at the same time as both her and the Professor?

They shuffled where they stood. Deciding that standing made her even more nervous, she leaned on the wall of the elevator.

“Do you know why she called us?” Buttercup finally brought up.

The looks on their faces were just as confused as her own.

Bubbles chimed in, “I thought she told you?”

“Told me what?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know either. I thought maybe you’d know.”

“Hm… And you, dad?”

The Professor shook his head. “Nope.”

 _So she didn’t tell any of us. What’s going on, Blossom?_ This was, strangely, keeping them on their toes.

Before they could even knock on the apartment door, Blossom opened it with a smile. Her smile was unusually toothy, and it made Buttercup wonder even more.

“Hello! Uh, come in,” she moved to the side to give them space.

After they’d taken their shoes off and found their seats in the living room, Blossom offered them tea or coffee. Buttercup and Bubbles agreed on coffee, while the Professor told her he has to go pretty soon, so just water was fine. When she moved to the kitchen, the three guests exchanged perplexed glances.

“How are you guys doing?” She asked from the kitchen.

“Okay,” Buttercup replied flatly.

The Professor’s shoulders tensed. “I’m pretty good. You caught me in a rush, though. I need to be at the lab in a bit.”

“Same here,” Bubbles added, “Boomie and I are going shopping.”

“Oh! Then I’d better make this quick.” Blossom said. “Could you please come get your coffee? I can’t really carry it like this…”

“Sure,” Buttercup and Bubbles spoke in unison as they stood to get it.

When they sat back down, an odd silence followed in which they only sipped their drinks. Blossom tapped the armrests of her wheelchair. It looked like she forgot what to do with her hands, since one moment she laced her fingers, the next she was holding her wrists, and then she was wiggling her fingers. Buttercup read right through her – she was nervous about something.

“Something wrong?” She asked quite directly.

“No, no!” Blossom was quick to reply. “Actually, I’d say that… maybe, something’s right.”

Bubbles hid a knowing smile tugging at her lips by taking a sip of her coffee.

“What do you mean, darling?” The Professor leaned forward in the pink living chair.

Blossom rubbed the sides of her coffee cup. “Ms. Keane came over, the other day, and… We talked and, well, long story short – I’m going to go to physical therapy.”

The living room went quiet. All their stares were pointed to Blossom. A glint in Bubbles’s eye didn’t give her away.

“Really?!” Buttercup jumped from the couch, the happiest grin on her face.

“Yes!” Blossom returned her smile.

“That’s wonderful!” The Professor chided.

“Yes!” Bubbles drank her coffee. “When are you starting, Blossy?”

“As soon as I find a caregiver.” She copied her. “I’m still looking, but Ms. Keane said she’ll ask around, too.”

“Amazing! I can’t wait!” Buttercup hugged her.

There it was – the family’s signature group hug. As she held them, Bubbles smiled at the thought that mom would be proud, now that Blossom made this decision. _The right decision._

Letting go of them, the Professor glanced at his watch. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry, girls, I have to go now.”

“It’s alright! I’m glad you came anyway,” Blossom giggled.

“Oh, I should go, too. Boomie will be waiting for me,” Bubbles announced with an awkward scratch of her hair.

Blossom escorted them to the door.

“Do you want me to drive you home, honey?” The Professor offered as he put his coat back on.

“No, thank you!” Her response was rushed. “He’s uh- waiting for me at the mall!”

“Oh, okay. And you, sweetie?” He raised his chin toward Buttercup.

Buttercup held her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. Her eyes trailed to Blossom. “Um, I actually thought I’d stay… If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course!” Blossom grinned as she opened the door. “Well, I guess I’ll see you guys soon?”

“Definitely!” The Professor said. “If you need anything, just call!”

“Same here!” Bubbles said as she exited the apartment. “And don’t forget! The show is coming up soon!”

Buttercup and Blossom nodded as they waved them off. After the two had gone, she pushed Blossom back to the living room. The clouds outside the wide window foretold an oncoming storm – April was a mess. They sat in silence for a moment. Both their eyes were drawn to the floor. Buttercup messed with the fluff of the carpet anxiously.

“So listen, I’m-”

“Buttercup, I-”

They tried breaking the silence at the same time, and laughed at how silly it sounded.

“You go first,” Buttercup insisted.

“Buttercup, I wanted to…” She wrung her fingers. “I wanted to apologize.”

Her sister’s lime eyes widened. “What? What for?”

“Sorry for lashing out at you the last time we talked. I wasn’t…” Blossom sighed, trying to explain it without sounding self-depreciating. “I didn’t feel good, at the time. And I felt how I said I did, but it was no excuse for me to yell at you. To yell at my sister.”

Figuring Buttercup’s mouth stood agape out of confusion, she continued. “And it’s even worse, you know, since I knew you had good intentions, and I just-”

“This is too funny,” Buttercup let out a breathy, thin laugh.

Blossom’s hair rose. “What’s funny about it?”

“Because I wanted to apologize to _you._ ”

Another wave of silence washed over them. Their eyes met, confusion against determination – confusion was on Blossom’s side.

“Why should you apologize?” She gasped.

“Because I was being pushy as fu-”

“ _Language._ ”

“Right. Sorry. Pushy as _heck_ ,” Buttercup corrected, “And I stormed out, and I was being rude, and you didn’t deserve that, especially with all this, and-”

She was interrupted by a snort coming from her red-headed sister.

“Buttercup,” she managed between funny sniffles, “Let’s just move on from this. We’re both sorry, and I don’t think either of us are mad anymore.”

The green-clad sister joined her in laughing about it. “Yeah, let’s move on.”

After a well-deserved laughter party, the two talked about what happened since their little fallout. Apparently, they missed out on a lot.

“…and then this guy comes along and smacks her arm away! The coffee spills all over him! And he doesn’t even _flinch!_ ” Blossom imitated the motion of that strange guy from _Coffee Believe._

“Whoop,” Buttercup took a sip of her coffee, “was he hot?”

The redhead looked askance. “I don’t know, I didn’t see his face.”

Rolling her eyes at her, Buttercup placed her cup back down. “Dude, it’s not _all_ about the face! Did he have abs or whatever?”

A deep blush covered Blossom’s face as she stuttered. “I-I don’t know! Maybe? I only saw his back!”

“Sweet! Did he have a nice ass?”

“ _Buttercup._ ”

She burst out laughing. “Sorry! Sorry.”

Blossom couldn’t help but laugh along. “And what about you? How’s the _partner?_ ”

Buttercup tried very hard not to slip up about how they met. “He’s okay, I guess, just not my type of person to deal with.”

“’Deal with?’”

She rolled her eyes. “Rap and reggae dude. Only plays drum-type instruments and the mixing programs. Works as a DJ at _Joker’s._ ”

“Oh, say no more,” now it was Blossom’s turn to roll her eyes.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. “You’ve _been there?_ ”

Tapping her coffee cup, Blossom pursed her lips. “Yeah, Dexter made me go with him once. It sucked.”

_Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone so easy on him._

“What’s he like, though?” Blossom wiggled her eyebrows. “Is _he_ hot?”

Buttercup stammered out a “What?! Hell no!”, but the way her ears got red gave her away. She thought he was hot.

“A _ha!_ He _is!_ ” She pointed a finger as she laughed. “Drop the name, BC! Drop the name!”

Buttercup took a sip of coffee, rubbed her forehead, and answered. “Butch Jojo.”

 _Jojo?_ Blossom could have sworn she’d heard that surname from someone… A distant memory of hearing it in a squeaky, excitable voice rang out in her head. But nothing came up. _Jojo…_

“You okay?” Her sister asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” Blossom sipped her coffee. “Just thinking.”


	10. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick can't run from his past anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled Doggy Disaster or Last Resort

Swinging the door open, Brick was greeted by his over-excited German shepherd. Buzz jumped on him with all his force, landing them both on the floor. The dog was as disobedient as he was happy, so Brick’s shouts of “Hey, get off” didn’t really get to him much. Finally managing to wiggle out from under the barking, tail-wagging beast that he called a pet, Brick took another look at the apartment.

_Thank fuck, looks like he didn’t ruin everything this time._

The broken chair from last time stood in the corner of shame, along with the bathroom sink and a ripped-up living chair. Buzz was as strong as he was dumb. _Seriously, what did they even feed you at the pound before I got you?_ Brick sure as hell only got him the most normal dog food, and it wasn’t like he’d trained him to be destructive…

Buzz trapped him again, when he’d sat down on the sofa. He was up in his face, licking profusely, and Brick disgustedly shooed him off. Brick let his hair loose from the ponytail he’d had it in since the day started. The back of his head hurt as the tension was finally let off. It was painful and freeing all the same. He let his mind wander as he stroked Buzz’s fur.

What would he do now? Job listings for his _alma mater_ weren’t hard to come by, but nothing he could find would allow him to pay off his debt quickly enough. And it had to be a part-time job, too, because it was only suspension, not a full-on resignation. If he took a full-time position, he’d have to quit two weeks before the end of the suspension, and that amount of hours definitely wouldn’t give him the needed amount of money. Unless, by some miracle, he won the lotto. Brick didn’t play the lotto.

Funny, he and his brothers used to joke that, if winning the lotto meant winning a life sentence in jail, they’d probably win. Gallows humor – how they’d usually dealt with stressful situations.

Buzz got up from the sofa and walked to the bathroom. That afternoon’s talk with coach Keane crossed his mind. Fifteen dollars per hour, fourteen hours a day, AND a place to stay… He thought it through in terms of payment – fifteen per hour for fourteen hours, that’s two hundred and ten per day, and without weekends, that’s… a thousand and fifty per week? And with weekends – _fourteen hundred and seventy_?! His brain hit panic mode.

This would be way more than he needed! Hell, in two weeks he would be able to pay all this off! And in two more, he could move out of Miss Utonium’s – that was the name, right? – apartment. _Why did it sound so familiar? …That doesn’t matter now, focus, dumbass!_ Admittedly, he could get a more comfortable apartment than the one he had now… With a better landlord… And maybe a better view…

Okay, _no,_ now he was just fantasizing. _Focus, damn it!_

 _Who had that kind of money?! This had to be some cruel joke!_ The offer was _more_ than tempting, indeed, especially with the wage, but… His emotional attachment to the job would make him useless later on. And what with… _him…_ He couldn’t.

But the money…? And the debt? And the apartment and the suspension? And…? _Ugh._

Brick had arrived to a conclusion. Here was the thing. He would _only_ accept that job if it was his last and ONLY resort, and if something else got fucking broken in this apartment _. Last and only resort._ _Good? Good, fine with me. Great, even. Now, for the other options._

Before he even began thinking about job listings, he had to make sure that nothing else in this damn apartment gets ruined. That should be easy – Buzz only made a mess if he wasn’t home. Since there were no practices for him in the next two months, that had it covered.

Speaking of Buzz, where was he, anyway? Oh right, the bathroom. He’d been in there for quite a while…

Now that Brick thought about it, he could really use a shower. He usually had a routine where he’d come back from training, take a shower, make dinner and watch some TV before going to sleep. Strange that he forgot about it – the suspension talk must have gotten to him much more than he’d originally thought. Brick picked up a change of clothes on his way to the bathroom.

But no sooner had he opened the bathroom door than he noticed the trickle of water coming from underneath it. Upon opening it, he saw Buzz sitting proudly by the broken toilet. A large chunk of the ceramic fell next to him on the floor, as if on cue. His tail wagged when he noticed Brick. ‘Oh hey, glad to see you again.’

“BUZZ, what the ACTUAL FUCK?! MOVE!” Brick rushed him out of the bathroom.

 _God damn it. What now?_ That was AT LEAST two hundred dollars added to the already existing debt. By the end of this shit, Brick would be fucking broke. _Buzz, you dumb doggy idiot._

There was no way he could fix this. No. Fuck it. He was… He was going to deal with it later. He was going to talk to Nancy the Horrifying Landlord later. Right now, Brick needed to find that goddamn number.

Wait. _Shit._ He didn’t take her number! _God damn it, Brick, you stupid fucker, what now?_ He hurriedly searched for his phone and tried to think something up. Fuck the last resort shit. He needed the money.

 _Coach Parker?_ Yeah, he might have her number. Brick called him.

_Come on. Come on, you old fart. Pick up the fucking phone._

“… Hello?”

“Coach! Hello! Listen, I-”

“Brick? What are you calling me for?”

“Actually, coach, I wanted to ask – do you have coach Keane’s number?”

Leaning on the kitchen counter, Brick watched as Buzz ambles over to him. He’d taken on a more pleading expression – if dogs _could_ form facial expressions.

“Coach Keane? Why, you transferring to figure skaters?”

Coach Parker let out a mocking chuckle, and Brick did his best to ignore it. Luckily, he was good with on-the-spot lying. “Actually, no, I have to apologize for today.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment was very clear in his voice. “Well then, how nice of you. I’ll send it to you. Ya need anything else, kid?”

 _Kid? You’re more childish than I am, though._ “Nothing. Thanks, coach.”

“No problem! See ya in two months.”

 _Already making dry jokes?_ Brick rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Good luck on the Stanley Cup, I’ll be watching.”

“You better! Bye!”

His phone vibrated seconds later. Buzz was doing loops around his feet, sorry little eyes looking up at him. ‘Sorry I fucked up.’ Brick knelt down to his level and gave him some scratches and pets.

“You’re lucky I love you, you little shit,” he grinned.

The German shepherd gave him what he could only describe as a smile. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. ‘’Course you do, I’m a cutie.’

Standing back up, Brick stuck his tongue out at him. “Your messy ass better hope Miss Utonium allows pets like _you,_ stinky.”

Either genuinely concerned or realizing how weird it is for a human to talk to him, Buzz tilted his head to the side. Brick slapped his forehead before finally calling the number coach Parker had sent him.


	11. Opportunities And Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet, and it doesn't go how they'd expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: this is all too unexpected and surprising to me?!! thank you all so much for just over 1k hits and all the kudos! <3 :D

_Hello, is this Blossom Utonium?_

Read Monday, 07:42 p.m.

Yes, who is this?

Received Monday, 07:42 p.m.

_This is Brick Jojo. Coach Keane_

_told me you’ve been looking for a_

_support worker, and I think I could be_

_the one for the job._

Read Monday, 07:43 p.m.

Oh. Yes, I have. Sure, can

we schedule an interview?

Received Monday, 07:43 p.m.

_Yes, when would be alright with you?_

Read Monday, 07:43 p.m.

How does Wednesday at 11 sound?

Received Monday, 07:44 p.m.

_Great. Where do we meet up?_

Read Monday, 07:44 p.m.

I’ll send you the address of my place.

Received Monday, 07:44 p.m.

* * *

The uptown apartment building stared down at him before he entered. Brick thought this was no time to be nervous, but here he was, standing in the elevator and fidgeting with his feet.

She seemed pleasant enough through texts – and even more so from what he’d read. He wouldn’t tell her, but he spent all of last night looking through anything about her he could find on the internet. She even had a Wikipedia page? How had he not heard about her before? Either way, it was pure research, trying to find out what he was getting into. He even called Dan to ask some things that actually seemed like common sense, but wasn’t sure about.

 _Blossom Utonium, the gold-winning Ice Queen of Townsville._ As her wiki put it, she “retired after a tragic fall during the World Figure Skating Championships.” It went into further detail about the injury itself, from what journalists could gather from the hospital.

Strangely, Brick couldn’t find any videos of the actual fall anywhere. Even when he re-watched the whole footage of the competition, it got to the part just before the throw, and then cut to the next contestants. It made no sense to him. Not that he cared, he was just… curious.

He was somewhat glad he couldn’t find it, too. It would probably remind him of what happened to…

 _Ping,_ the elevator’s ring announced that he arrived. Checking his watch, Brick walked to the apartment door. Exactly eleven o’clock. Apartment number 3E. He rang the bell.

She was quick to answer. And she was not bad on the eye, to be fair. Her red hair was tied in a messy bun, it framed her round face nicely. _Wait. I fucking know you from somewhere._

Brick didn’t say anything other than ‘hello’.

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” She shook his hand before letting him step in.

Her hands were slightly reddened – he recalled Dan told him something about that, but didn’t know what. Regardless, she gestured for him to sit at the table in the living room-dining room area.

“Would you like some coffee or tea, Mr. Jojo?” She called as she moved to the kitchen.

“Tea sounds good,” he plopped down on the chair next to the head of the table. “And please, just Brick.”

“Alright. Call me Blossom, then.”

Brick heard her put on a kettle and decided to wait silently. Her name was befitting, especially with the amount of pink in this apartment. Shortly answering her question of “what kind of tea would you like” with “any kind,” he decided to look around.

He found that, although the color was light but prominent, it was still tastefully arranged into the space, like an accent color. Behind the mounted plasma TV was the only wall actually painted pink – all the other walls were a very light grey. The corner couch and the two living chairs matched, contemporarily cubical. The view outside the floor-to-ceiling window wasn’t half bad, either. He thought it was all too… neat.

Then again, he wouldn’t expect any less from a world-famous figure skater.

“Could you come and get your cup, please?”

He heard her call from the kitchen and mumbled a ‘yeah’ as he shuffled over. Remembering Dan had told him to always ask first, he followed the advice. “Can I push you to the table?”

She seemed surprised. “Oh, sure. Thanks.”

As he did so, Brick realized that she was weirdly light. Taking his seat again, he sighed.

“Well, I’ll be honest,” Blossom began, her hands curling around her steaming cup, “I’ve never conducted a job interview before. I just have some questions that I think are appropriate and job-related. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yeah, kind of,” he answered, taking his first sip. _What’s this taste, jasmine?_ “You should start with asking, though.”

“Sure. So…” Her fingers tapped against the table. “Do you have any previous experience with this type of work?”

Brick shrugged. “Not really. I went to med school for two years, but I dropped out.”

“Okay, and what’s your most recent occupation?” She took a sip.

“Actually, I’m just suspended from it for now.”

His eyes widened when her expression turned shocked. “Right, I forgot to mention, I play hockey for the Townsville Rottweilers.”

“Oh, cool. My sister’s a fan,” Blossom giggled, her eyes softening.

“Really?” He couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, it was a phase back in high school. She was so into all these sports, my other sister and I learned the rules just to watch them with her.” Her eyes were cast to the side, there was something nostalgic about that look.

“My brothers did the same thing, actually,” He chuckled. “Just as an excuse to come to games and support me.”

She laughed through her nose. “That’s sweet. And how many do you have, what’s family life like?”

He stiffened. _What’s that got to do with you? With this? It literally doesn’t matter._

“I’d, uh, rather not talk about that,” his hands dug into his knees under the table.

Brick noticed her shoulders tense. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” he bristled.

“No, I mean, it’s too personal and it’s not about the job, I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”

For some reason, his gaze trailed to her face. He’d never seen such honestly apologetic eyes. _Does she seriously not remember me?_

“Yeah. Okay. Apology accepted.” He gingerly fixed his cap. _Quit being all nervous, damn it._ “… Continue, please.”

“Sure. No more… personal questions?” Blossom posited an offer.

“Deal.” He took a sip.

“Yep.” Brick saw her bite her lips together. _Don’t do that._

A second of silence passed. In it, he hoped she would just continue. Brick hated breaking the silences in these conversations. _Say something. Anything, God damn it._

“Do you have a driver’s license?” _Thank fuck._

“Yeah, I drive a Honda Accord.”

He had multiple retorts prepared for any “Wow, a dad car? Really?” jokes, but surprisingly, none came. Just a small “good” before she asked another question.

“Can you cook?” A light blush dusted her cheeks at the question, and he wondered why.

“Yes, I learned when I moved out for college.” He took another sip, and then breathed a low laugh. “Not to brag, but I’d say I’m pretty good.”

“Nice.” _Why did his stomach churn at her smile?_ It was just a quick gesture, Brick thought that he shouldn’t read into it too much. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the smile disappeared into a line. “How do you feel about personal care? You know what the job involves?”

Though he could feel his face going a bit red, Brick stayed composed. Maintaining eye contact – _try not to make it even more awkward,_ like Dan had said – he thought and tapped the table.

“Yes, well, I might not have experience, but whatever it involves, it’s work,” he shrugged, “It’d be the same regardless of my gender, so…”

She hummed in response. _What the fuck does “hm” mean, woman?!_

“I suppose that’s true,” Blossom averted her eyes and he caught the slightest quiver of her voice.

Seems she was just as flustered, but he wouldn’t say anything about it. Still, he felt compelled to console her, for some reason. His eyes lingered on her hands – their reddened fingertips still holding the cup in a stiff chokehold. He took a deep breath.

“Listen, I get that we don’t know each other at all and it will be uncomfortable at first, but it’s a step towards getting better, isn’t it?” He explained as calmly as he could.

Brick couldn’t tell whether the way the corners of her lips twitched meant approval, but he said what he thought. Besides, he needed the job, and…

“You’re right, yeah.” Her grip on the cup loosened. _Good._ “I guess I don’t have any more work-related questions, so you can ask me yours…?”

With a nod, he tried to arrange the questions in his head by some logical order. What to ask first?

“What would you say you’d need me to do on a daily basis?” His chin rested atop his wrist.

Blossom could _swear_ she recognized those hands from somewhere but… there was no way! It couldn’t be.

_Whatever. He asked you a question!_

“I need help with personal hygiene, getting dressed, _and_ I need to be reminded to take my pain meds. Also, I can’t cook.” She ignored his small smirk at the last item she listed off on her fingers. “And after I start physical therapy, I’ll need help going to and from the center.”

“Okay. The wage is fifteen per hour, right?” He raised an eyebrow, his hand reaching up to tuck a stray hair back behind his ear.

“Yep. Fourteen hours a day, five days a week.”

“And if I moved in, how would that work?”

A tinge of confusion crossed her face. “Ms. Keane told you about that, too?”

“Yeah.” _Why are you surprised about that?_

“Hm. Well, the wage would stay the same, it’d just be seven days a week, since it’d technically mean you’re always on duty.” Blossom explained. “As for how it’d work, I just have an extra room we could convert into a bedroom. It’s a closet right now, but it’s the size of a study.”

_The size of a study?! What the- oh right, world-famous figure skater._

She was giving him a weird look, and Brick couldn’t figure out why.

“And are there any, like, pet policies…?”

The look turned even weirder, almost affronted. “Pet policies?”

“I have a dog, can’t go anywhere without him. Had a fight with my previous landlord about keeping him.” He punctuated the explanation with a sip of his tea. The cup was almost empty.

“I see.” A strand of her hair fell out from her bun, and while she stretched to adjust it, she thought. “The building complex doesn’t have any rules against pets, and I don’t mind dogs as long as they’re well-behaved.”

_Ya hear that, Buzz?_

“Okay. And… do you or the building have any kind of rules or routines I should know about?” Brick moved to drink the last of his tea.

“Excuse me, but why are you asking me all this?”

He stopped mid-gulp. Her voice turned serious and strict. Lowering the cup back to the table, he found her expression matching her voice. Under furrowed eyebrows, a pair of resentful pink eyes scrutinized him.

“What do you mean?” That last sip was still in the cup.

“First of all, you’re talking as if I’ve already given you the job. Like I’m already thinking about letting you move in; all your questions revolve around that. Second, even if I _did_ hire you, I’d have to know you much better than this to even think of moving in with you. But you’re a _stranger._ ” Her eyebrows knit together tighter, and she huffed, her tone bordering on angry.

Brick’s eyes widened and his hands fidgeted under the table.

“Did you come here to get the job or ask me to give it to you out of sympathy, along with the room to let you move in?”

Something was stuck in his throat. Even if it wasn’t, she had a point – he couldn’t find a rational answer to her question. So Brick did what he could: he stared at his almost empty cup. As if this blank, plain, white cup was the most interesting thing in the world.

“You can’t answer that,” Blossom said, a tone of disappointment coloring her voice. “Then, why did you apply, anyway? At least give me that reason.”

His eyes stayed glued to the cup. His lips suddenly felt so dry… His gut told him he shouldn’t answer. But Brick Jojo wouldn’t be Brick Jojo if he weren’t stubborn as hell.

“You want me to tell you? Fine.” He managed as firmly as he could. “Three reasons. One, I’m currently in debt that needs to be managed soon. Two, I received an eviction notice from my landlord a week ago, and need to find a new place soon. I thought I could get both of those out of the way myself, but then I got suspended for the next two months. The job you’re offering seemed like my best option, with the given wage. And three…”

He caught himself. Could he tell her about…? _Of course not._ His lips pressed together.

“… The third reason is too personal for me to tell you.”

Brick hated the way her arms cross, even though a part of him felt she was right to be mad. He realized, in trying not to freeload off of his brothers, he’d become too opportunistic for his own liking, and tried to freeload off of someone else. _But it was a good offer! Who_ wouldn’t _jump on it? I-_

“I think there’s nothing left to discuss here.” She broke his train of thought. “While your reason may be a good reason one should get a job, it’s no excuse for you to act so…”

The fact that she couldn’t seem to find the word unnerved him. It unnerved him, because while she couldn’t pinpoint the right one, he could fit several in that sentence. Each of them would sound right. Each of them proved to him she was correct to be mad.

Seconds passed. _Just say something._

“I’m sorry, but I think you should leave.”

 _What the fuck are you sorry for? Quit being so…_ No word other than _nice_ came to mind.

“Yeah.”

It was the last word he said to her before leaving.


	12. Exhausting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain identities are realized, and coffee is needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: even more developments?? thank you all so much for the kudos! <3

_He couldn’t have been serious._

Blossom ordered Chinese that evening. There was no way Brick was serious! Forget the thought about his hands and his voice and his qualifications (or rather, lack thereof)! What was his excuse?! The fact that he just left without trying to defend himself was telling, too. What could have possibly made Ms. Keane send him her way? Did she misjudge him _that_ badly…?

And still, the familiarity of his surname plagued her mind. Buttercup mentioned some Butch with the same one, were they related…? That had to be reaching too far – but _why_ did she distinctly remember a squeaky, excited voice screaming “Jojo” at her? Not even a visual memory – just the ear-piercing joyful voice whose owner she couldn’t remember. She sighs with exhaustion, and decides to call Buttercup. Maybe the first theory wasn’t that far of a reach.

Of course, that would have been a lot easier if Buttercup ever _actually_ picked up phone calls. The world could be burning and she wouldn’t know, because her phone was on silent. After the ringing stopped, Blossom sighed again. Today’s interview was just too stressful. She needed something to pick up her mood.

Bubbles was good at such things. Yeah, she could call her up.

“Hey Blossy! What’s up?” She picked up almost instantly.

“Oh, nothing. Just felt like talking, you know,” Blossom’s voice hitched in a way she disliked.

Bubbles wasn’t fooled. “Switch to video. What happened?”

Doing as she said, Blossom revealed to her that she was in her bed. Wrapped up in the thickest blanket she owned, eating Chinese takeout in her pajamas. The only light was the one coming from her laptop, somewhere beside her.

She could see Bubbles gasp on her end of the video. “Blossy, it’s only six!”

“I know,” she replied.

“You’re in your pajamas!”

“I know.”

“And you only order Chinese when you’re upset!”

“I know,” she confirmed, miserably dragging out the ‘o’.

Bubbles sat down on her couch. “What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal. Some jerk applied for being a caregiver just so he could move in. No qualifications, no nothing! Started talking like the job’s already his!” She could hear someone talking in the background of Bubbles’s end of the line.

“Oh goodness, that’s horrible. Sorry– Boomie, could you be a bit quieter? I’m talking on the phone, too,” she said in a honeyed voice. Blossom could hear a tiny “sorry” in the background.

“What’s going on?” She smiled half-heartedly.

“Nothing, he’s just talking to his brother on the phone.” Bubbles glanced to the side before returning to look at the call again. “Sucks about what happened to you, wanna talk about it?”

“I’m not su–” Blossom was interrupted by a bit more commotion on her sister’s line.

“Boomer, please,” her eyebrows scrunched up with the slightest irritation. Another tiny “sorry”. “Please, continue.”

Taking another bite of her Kung Pao Chicken, she continued. “Right. As I was saying… I’m not sure if I’m entirely right about him, though.”

Bubbles’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Ms. Keane sent him over. I don’t think she would have done that if she didn’t trust him about this. And he can cook and drive, but just… I don’t know. The personality, the attitude, it’s just…” The right word escaped her, just like that morning.

Her sister’s eyes stayed the same. “I’m… still not sure what you mean? Was he rude?”

“Well, not really, but–”Blossom was cut off again.

“ _BOOMER ZACHARY JOJO!_ I am _trying_ to talk to my _sister!_ ” Another “sorry” followed it, but Blossom’s train of thought was swayed off-track.

 _Jojo._ In the exact same tone of voice as her memory.

“Bubbles!” Her eyes flashed with curiosity, and she spoke before her brain could catch up to her mouth. “How many brothers does he have?”

“Hm? Oh, he has two.” Bubbles shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“What are they talking about on the phone?” Blossom questioned again.

“Not sure. I think Boomie’s brother got badly rejected at some job interview or something?” She nodded to the side like she was asking him if she was right. “Yeah, that’s it. Why?”

Blossom had one more question. “What’s his name?”

“I dunno, wait a sec. Boomie, what’s his name?” She turned to ask him.

Those few seconds she took to reply were agonizing. Blossom spent them hoping to whatever deity she could think of that it wasn’t what she thought. Her nails dug into the blanket, wrapping herself tighter.

“It’s Brick.”

Despite her sister’s nonchalant response, the hairs on Blossom’s neck rose. It was just her luck that Bubbles didn’t seem to notice. “Why? Do you know him?”

She blinked rapidly before she spoke. “Oh, no, no! Just, uhh…” _Just WHAT?_ “Checking. I met someone with a similar last name, so I might’ve mixed it up.”

_PLEASE believe that._

“Oh! How silly. I thought you were… _interested_ there for a second.” Bubbles laughed at the way her sister’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. “Anyway, you were about to say about that guy?”

Blossom’s mouth had run dry – she hated lying like this. She took more of her chicken. “Yeah. I don’t know, he just seemed so… Ugh, forget it. I’m just glad it’s over now.”

“Yeah, I totally get you, people like that are so exhausting.” Bubbles emphasized the ‘exhausting’ with a groan. “Did Ms. Keane send anyone else?”

“No,” she ground her teeth, “but I just hope to find someone soon. The sooner the better, as the doctors put it.”

Bubbles giggled. “I just hope you find one before the fashion show! I really _really_ don’t want you to miss it,” she joked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Blossom added on. “I’d crawl to it, if I had to.”

“Now, now, let’s not get carried away!” She scrunched up her nose with laughter.

“Sorry, sorry!” She replied. Noticing an exasperated exhale on her sister’s end, Blossom asked, “What’s going on?”

Looking around for a bit, Bubbles raised her eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. Boomie just hung up the phone. You okay, Boom Boom?”

Blossom couldn’t help but giggle at the nickname. She’d been reminded that the two were highschool sweethearts – even went to the same art college later, before graduating and moving in. All of that and more, together. _What a happy little life_ , Blossom thought when she saw an arm snake around her sister’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the blond boy planted a tender kiss on her cheek.

“Say ‘hi’ to Blossy!” She tried scolding him, even though there was a smile on her face.

“Hi, Blossy!” Boomer waved at the phone’s camera.

 _What a happy little life, indeed._ “Hey, _Boom Boom_ ,” she tried to smile. “How’s brother business?”

He groaned. “Don’t even ask, the dude is stubborn as fu-”

“ _Language._ ” Bubbles and Blossom warned at the same time.

“… uuuurick,” he finished. “It’s such a stupid position to be in, but I still wanna help him, ya know?”

“Really?” Blossom raised an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“Boomie and I even asked him if he’d like to move in until he found a job, but he just won’t accept it!” Bubbles huffed. “You boys and your pride.”

“Hey!” Boomer jokingly raised his voice. “Nah, I’m kiddin’. But he’s really a mess right now… That job he applied for was his last resort.”

_Last resort?_

“We did what we could, Boomie,” Bubbles comforted him with a hand to his cheek. He leaned into it like some oversized kitten.

“I know, I know…”

Blossom’s lip was stuck between her teeth again. She had all the right reasons to be mad, but… she still felt bad. And this was her sister’s boyfriend’s _brother!_ What if they found out? Would they… No! That was none of their business! Only her and his! And he was being a jerk! _But… Last resort?_

Shuffling away, he stretched with a tired grunt. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Okay! Blossy, everything okay?” she perked up, worried eyes looking right at her. “You got all quiet.”

“No, no, everything’s okay, just thinking again.” Blossom’s hand rushed to her mouth.

“Oh?”

“Bubsy,” Boomer called out from somewhere off-camera, “Wanna join me?”

Heat rose to Blossom’s face as she snorted. Flustered, Bubbles yelled back at him, “BOOMER!”

“What!” Blossom could hear him cackling.

“You know I can’t!”

Their eyes widened momentarily. Silence.

“Bubbles?” Blossom dared to ask.

“I-I already took a shower! And I don’t uhh- feel like it!” Bubbles’s response was rushed.

_Oh my God. Phew, no way that they… khm._

Exhaling, Blossom took more of her chicken. “Oh, God, you almost had me there for a moment.”

“Yeah, haha,” Bubbles said awkwardly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Another silence.

“Well, uh, thanks for talking this out with me. I feel better.” Blossom smiled.

“No problem! See you soon?” Bubbles grinned at her.

“Yeah.” Blossom agreed before she hung up. “See you soon.”

Slumping back down on the bed, Blossom stared at the ceiling. _Last resort?_ What was that about? Brick _did_ explain it to her, but still… _Wait, did he know I’m Bubbles’s sister? It seems he didn’t tell them anything about me in particular. Just that he got rejected. But…_

If they found out, what would happen? Something was sure to happen! What if they fought? Or worse – _what if they broke up?_ Blossom couldn’t let that happen, they were so happy together! Especially not because of her!

 _It’s none of their business! None of your business!_ An indignant voice in her head argued.

 _Are you sure? What if they break up because you were too selfish?_ Another, more timid voice asked.

 _You weren’t being selfish! He was being selfish, just marching in and asking a_ stranger _for a place to stay!_

_Well, if something more happens between Bubbles and Boomer, he won’t be a stranger anymore! He could be your brother-in-law! What then? Would you risk their relationship because of this?!_

_So what! It’s none of their business! It’s none of_ your _business to worry about_ their _relationship! And if they have to be mad at someone, they should be mad at_ him!

_You’re being ridiculous! Are you hearing yourself?! This was his last resort! The guy is a mess! He could wind up homeless because of you!_

_It wouldn’t be because of me! …Could it?_

_Of course! And besides, it’s not like you have many options!_

_What do you mean?_

_This is the only person anyone could find to care for you since all this began! That’s pretty rich to say, too, since dad is_ literally _a scientist! If he couldn’t find anyone in three weeks, and Ms. Keane could in what, two days, what do you have left?_

 _… Fine._ Blossom fumbled in the sheets to find her phone again. As she was scrolling through the contact list, her thoughts continued.

_And what’s worse, you needed to find a caregiver as fast as possible!_

_Fine._

_The longer you wait, the smaller the chance that you’ll recover!_

_FINE!_

Blossom stopped. Her thumb lingered over the text button by the contact name. Brick Jojo.

The same argumentative voice spoke up, only quieter than before. It was hesitant. … _Do you really think you can recover?_

That other voice hesitated, too. _…I don’t know, but…_

_But…?_

She drew a shivery breath. Her mind wandered to what she’d told Ms. Keane and her family. To their faces and eyes, filled with relief, hope and care.

_…But I promised I’d try._

* * *

“No.” Buttercup slouched in her stool. How insistent could he get?

“Come on. We’ve been brainstorming for hours and we haven’t come up with ANYTHING NEW!” Butch continued to whine. “We deserve a break!”

Buttercup hated to admit that he was right.

Yesterday, they got a reminding email from _YTR_. It talked about the rules and the finesses of the contest, how this all would work. Judging by the fact that it was the same information as in the first email they received, they must have thought that the contestants were idiots.

The goal was to produce an album of at least twelve songs in one month. That album needed to get in the top 10 pick of the judges. After that, the top ten’s albums got to be released under the _YTR_ record label.

When those ten albums got released, the top five contestants who got in the top 40’s of the following week won the contracts. Even then, there was a catch when it came to solo’s – because they were paired up, either only one of them would get the full six-year contract (which would be decided by the judges), or the pair of contestants could split it into two three-year contracts, one for each.

They paired up all their solo contestants to see how they would work with partners, something about “teamwork” and how “everyone at _YTR_ works as one”. Buttercup found this practice weird, if not cruel, but she could do nothing about it. Still, this amount of work was necessary, and it was _exhausting,_ to say the least.

Since they’d received that email, they seriously got down to business. Or, rather, _Buttercup_ seriously got down to business.

Butch's lazy style of working annoyed her. When she mixed alone, Buttercup knew what she wanted, and worked on it for hours and hours until it was exactly how she’d imagined. Everything had to be how she wanted it, from the shortest note to the longest riff. Call it nitpicking, call it perfectionism – it was just how she’d always worked.

He, however, was nothing like that. Butch settled for easy, repetitive beats and senseless verses. Butch worked when he wanted to, how he wanted to. He wasn’t half bad on a drum set or a drum pad, and even better on a mixing program. And he was a quick rapper, she gave him credit for that much. But God damn it if he didn’t annoy the shit out of her with his need-a-break whines.

Why the hell did they pair _them_ up, anyway? Buttercup didn’t mind the collab, but she wasn’t sure their styles mixed all that well. Maybe that was the problem…

“Come ooooon, Butts, please,” he persisted. “I know you’re tired, too!”

But there was no way to switch partners. _Curse you,_ YTR _._

“I’m not!”

As if sensing her mouth was open to yell, a contradicting yawn escaped her lips. She didn’t have time to cover it up, and avoided Butch’s victorious smirk.

“You are.”

 _Shut up._ She stayed quiet.

Like a cat twirling around its owner’s feet waiting to be pet, he leaned in close to her face. _Too close. Get the fuck away from me._ “Come on, Butts. We could both use a coffee, you know.”

Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was seven thirty p.m. They’d been here since twelve.

“… Fine.” She slammed her hand against the desk as she stood up. “But don’t pull any of your friendly shit!”

He hummed teasingly as he pulled away and got up. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Butch grinned, “Butts.”

_I’ll get you back for that friendly shit._

Butch was pulling on his jacket – he couldn’t tell what she wanted when she walked over to him. Buttercup got as close as she could to his face, icy lime eyes piercing into him with full force. Their noses were just a bump away. Enunciating as clearly as possible, she replied, “Bitch.”

When she backed away, the look on his face was disoriented, confused, angry and, most of all, priceless. Buttercup expected him to retort, defend, or say anything at all, but all he did cover his mouth with one of his hands as he unlocked the studio.

“Where do we go, anyway?” BC asked casually.

“I know a place,” Butch sneered, pushing the door open. This earned him a curious look from BC as they exited the studio.


	13. At The Black Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch drinks Respect Women Juice (and beer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: since I'm a little behind on my writing schedule, expect the next chapter to come out later than usual. Life gets in the way :'D

Butch knew a _great_ place. The sign by the door displayed the words _“Black cat”_ in a curly, gold font. This uptown café-bar had a 90’s vibe to it; Buttercup thought it was like a place you’d see mafia business going down in a crime movie. She could picture an Al Capone-type dude sitting at the bar with a whiskey on the rocks. The booths by the windows were filled with chatty people while a jazz band played on a raised platform in the back. Buttercup appreciated that it wasn’t too fancy, and still looked clean with a grungy aesthetic.

A chalkboard above the counters read “TODAY'S HAPPY HOUR – 8 P.M. TO 9 P.M.” “All drinks for half the price” was underlined twice on the board beneath it. Buttercup checked her phone – 8:03 _. So that’s why he wanted to go so badly._

Butch gestured to two stools at the bar and they slid into their seats.

Apparently, Butch was a regular, since the chubby woman behind the counter greeted him as if he were her son. “Baby Butch! You brought a girl!” She spread her arms as she spoke with a southern accent.

“Chill, Lonnie, she’s just a friend.” Butch wasn’t looking, but it was like he could feel Buttercup shrinking uncomfortably in her seat.

“Oh, too bad, this one’s a cutie.” Lonnie shrugged and leaned on the counter. She smiled when Buttercup’s shoulders shot up at the compliment. “Well, what can I get ya?”

“Get me a dark beer, and the same for her.”

“Oh no, thanks,” Buttercup raised a hand, “I’ll have a black coffee.”

As Lonnie got busy behind the counter, Butch clicked his tongue at her. “Party pooper.”

“I thought you said we could both use a _coffee_.” She crossed her arms.

“Nah, I’m not lightweight. I work better with a bit of booze.”

“Mhm...”

Lonnie set down her cup and his tankard. Buttercup sniffed her coffee – it smelled even more refreshing with how tired she felt. She took a sip when Butch asked her a question.

“Ok, so you know the deal? Like, we just work on the instrumentals together?” He asked after taking a swig of his beer.

“Yeah?”

“Well I was thinking, since we’ve already got the minimum, maybe we could add one more, where it’s like a mix?” Buttercup could see he talked with his hands a lot, like he was connecting dots. “Like, you sing the verses and the chorus, and then I rap the hook, and one more verse-chorus combo? And we still do the instrumental together?”

Buttercup nodded along as he talked. This was the first constructive thing he contributed today – maybe he _did_ work better with a bit of booze. What he suggested was a pretty basic song structure, and since the rest of the album differed from it, this could work out. The only problem being...

“Yeah, that’s cool and all,” she said, “But when do we write it? We’ve only got three to four weeks left, and we agreed on twelve songs. And we’re still writing those! I don’t think we can make it in time.”

Butch took another swig before speaking again. “Maybe we can do a cover? They’re not banned, are they?”

“They’re not. But which song?” Buttercup unknowingly mimicked him, taking another sip of coffee. “Our music tastes are so different.”

“Yeah, dude, your music taste sucks.” He teased and got a solid punch to the shoulder.

As her fist met his shoulder, Buttercup took an accidental look behind him. Her eyes flashed with recognition and she hid by laying her head on the bar. Butch noticed, but just as he was about to turn around, she grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.

“What the hell! Don’t look!” Buttercup whispered in a tone that sounded... embarrassed? Enraged? Both?

“Why? What did you see?” His eyebrows reached his hairline.

“N-no one. Forget about it.” She ducked her eyes.

Uh-huh, so it was a _who_. Butch put on his most serious expression to hide his interest. “Butts.”

BC imitated his tone. “Bitch.”

“Who is it?”

She glanced skyward – there was no escaping his bullshit, was there?

“ _Nobody._ Fuck off with your friendly shit.” Buttercup snapped in a whisper.

Her hands wrapped around her cup. She gripped it so tightly, Butch wondered how it wasn’t breaking. He couldn’t turn to look at him, so he spared the guy a side-glance when he was sure BC was looking away.

Damn. That was one ugly bastard. And why were his eyes so determinedly boring into Buttercup, even when she averted her gaze? Butch decided that, besides being ugly as hell, he had a very, _very_ , punch-able face. He shook his head – why was it so punch-able? He could ask Buttercup about it, but...

Butch kept his mouth shut. Except for when he had to take a drink.

After downing the last of her coffee – _how the hell did she drink it so fast?_ – Buttercup stood. “Where’s the restroom here?”

Sliding behind the counter, Lonnie pointed to a door by the entrance with a loose WC sign hanging off of it. Buttercup excused herself, and Butch’s mouth went inexplicably dry when she walked away.

He thoughtfully stared into his half-empty tankard, watching the bubbles rise from the bottom. Covers weren’t hard to manage, but Buttercup was right – their music tastes were too different to choose just one song. Especially one song that they could perform together, without mistakes.

To be honest, everything so far had been just one big headache for him. The two of them just jumped into this collab thing, not even taking the time to get to know each other. He couldn’t help but feel like knowing each other better would help them succeed. All he knew is that she sang well, played guitar and synth, and that she could throw a damn good punch. That was the extent of his knowledge, yet that still felt as if it shouldn’t develop. BC seemed to appreciate it, something about “having a strictly professional relationship, since this is just for the contest.”

But they were just too different! He was glad the collab was only for the contest, because he’d never willingly subject himself to this. To collaborating with someone as pent-up and nerve-wracking as Buttercup Utonium. Would it kill her to relax? Butch lived by “que será, será.” She should try that sometime.

His eyes remained fixated on his tankard when he saw a shadow moving behind him in the reflection. He didn’t move to check immediately, but instead kept watch over it in the glass. The person was going to the restroom. Butch finally sent a glance their way, and realized it was just the guy from before. The urge to punch his very punch-able face overwhelmed him, yet he felt an odd chill running over his back for some reason. Butch saw him close the door behind him. That’s when it hits him – _Butts is in the restroom._

Butch caught himself itching to stand up and go there, and he wondered why as he sat back down. Why would he go? It must be a coincidence! And even if it wasn’t, Buttercup could handle herself! Hell, he saw her punch a guy’s teeth in when he met her! So _why did he have a bad feeling right now?_

Against all rational judgement, Butch rushed to the restroom.

There he was, towering over Buttercup in the back. His arm was over her head, leaning and trapping her between him and the wall. Butch grimaced, his head is dangerously close to Buttercup’s, but she seemed frozen. He could see her fingers twitching – that was a good enough reason for Butch to approach.

When she saw Butch over his shoulder, Buttercup tried pushing the guy away. “Let me go, Ace.”

_So that’s the ugly fucker’s name._

Ace only inched closer, and in a sickening, snake-like voice, replied, “Now, why would I do that, baby?” His hand reached for her thigh.

“She told you to let her go.”

Butch stared Ace down when he turned around. God _damn_ if his face didn’t just scream “punch me!” That stupid smirk only made it worse. He moved towards Butch, giving him a once-over.

“What’s this? Got a problem, pal?” Ace seethed through his teeth.

“Yeah, now back away from her.” Butch’s hands rested on his hips. Buttercup shifted from one foot to another, refusing to look him in the eye.

Ace mimicked his posture. “This your rebound, Butterbabe?”

_Rebound? So it’s an ex, then?_

He could see her shudder.

_I don’t give a fuck._

Before Buttercup could even think of an answer, Butch had already said it. “Yes.”

Their eyes met, BC’s filled with bewildered confusion, while Butch tried to stay calm. Ace’s scrutinizing gaze moved from him to her, and back to him.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” he sneered, “I was just here to give her a good time.”

_There it was._

Butch charged at him effortlessly, his fist striking right between the torso and the stomach. Not quite the face, but it would do.

Ace let out a shivery wheeze as he pulled back. He tried to catch his breath while he moved in closer for a punch. It was useless, his strike was too weak. Staring up at Butch, Ace was horrified by his intimidating green glare. He sprinted out, as if for dear life.

Buttercup’s expression darkened. Butch reached out to her, but she smacked his hand away.

“Why did you do that?!”

“I had to! You were frozen there,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t have to!” Buttercup pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s... He’s just a dick.”

“A dick who wouldn’t leave you alone!” Butch swung his arms as he talked.

“I could’ve handled it myself!” She yelled at him.

“Yeah, I sure saw that.” His hoarse reply rendered her speechless.

Buttercup hated to think it, but he was right. Ace wouldn’t have left if Butch just stood there, she knew he wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t have backed off if Butch hadn’t come around at all... But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Buttercup stormed out, leaving him to wonder that the fuck had just happened.


	14. Frustrations And Fresh Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 2/3 Jojos are confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: hellooo everybody! I'm back on my regular posting schedule :D Here's something new - I made a side-blog for my fics and reblogging stuff from my fandoms:
> 
> https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'd love to have better means of communicating with my readers and fandom members, but since fanfics are kind of a niche for me, this will be the only other way to do so (besides this site's inbox). It's a side-blog because I'm pretty shy about my writing, so even posting this here is a big step for me and I'd rather keep it within the fandoms/communities I write for, without involving it with my personal life and other accounts. This might change, though.  
> Until it does, feel free to reach out to me through tumblr! :D I might not be very active, but I'd love to make new friends and throw around fic ideas and AUs ^^
> 
> Other than that, thank you all so much for the support! <3

Butch’s jaw slacked. What just went down…?

Did she just get mad at him for helping her out or was he getting this wrong?

_What the hell, Butts?_

Butch was quick to follow after her, but not quick enough to catch her. Their barstools were empty. A ten dollar bill sat crumpled up by her coffee. Biting his cheek, he wondered if she’d _really_ thought he’d let her pay. He’d give her the money when he saw her again.

… He _would_ see her again, right? There was no way she would just ghost him now, right? Of course not! He’d prove it now – he’s going to call her!

She wasn’t stupid, he knew she wasn’t stupid enough to just leave him like this. They had a contest to win in four weeks! She couldn’t leave!

_Answer your fucking phone._

Butts didn’t answer her phone.

Okay! Okay, there was no need for him to panic! Maybe she went back to the studio! Rushing to pay their bill, Butch almost forgot his jacket on the stool.

He slammed the door of his car shut and started up for the studio. _She couldn’t have been serious._ She was frozen! Some deer-in-the-headlights shit! Ace was… Butch didn’t want to think about what Ace was about to do. All that he knew was that Butts looked petrified.

He ground his teeth when he slowed at a stoplight. _None of that friendly shit._ How was he supposed to follow that rule if shit like this happened? And she was so angry about it, too! _Excuse me for punching an asshole!_ Butch was absolutely certain that he did nothing wrong.

 _Wait._ The light was green. He didn’t just punch the guy. He said he was her _rebound._ _Oh fuck._ Heat rushed to Butch’s face so fast, his vision blurred for a moment. Snapping out of it – _you’re driving, damn it!_ – he realized he missed the entrance to the parking lot. Butch turned back around with a groan and a red face.

He took the stairs to the studio. Fuck an elevator, he needed to think. _Rebound? Really?!_ But then again, how could he have _not_ said anything? Ace threatened her! He had to do something! Even if it meant saying… that… It didn’t matter! It was only to stop him! Butts must have known that! It didn’t mean shit! Butch did _the right thing!_

Messing with his keys and finally unlocking the damn studio, he hoped with every fiber of his being that she would be there. Despite his hopes, Butch found the studio as empty as they’d left it. He even checked the restroom. No sign of her even coming back here. _Fuck._

His hands fumbled to find his phone and dial the number again. _Answer your fucking phone._

No response, yet again.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?! He did nothing wrong! He protected her from that extremely punch-able asshole! Why was she like this?! Butch only-

 _You know what? No! Fuck this!_ Too many thoughts! He had enough! He had no reason to justify himself! Butch was going to go back home, forget all about this, and let her come to her senses! Butts will realize that she was wrong and come running right back, _begging_ to work on the album with him! Yeah! That’s right, it had to be like that! All he had to do now was go back home, relax and wait.

Walking back to his car and driving back to his apartment, Butch ignored the terrible need to call her again. The phone in his back pocket felt like it was burning. _What if she answers this time?_

No! She wasn’t going to pick up – he fucking knew it! So why did he call her again when he parked the car outside his apartment building?

He was right – she didn’t answer this time, either. Butch let out a sigh, eyes pointed skyward as he walked inside. _What the hell, Buttercup?_

* * *

At this point, Brick was ninety-nine percent sure that people were just fucking around with him. Literally yesterday morning, he’d been exactly where he was now, getting bitterly rejected for this job. Only this time, he was called back in. What changed her mind…?

Brick stole a glance at her over his cup. Blossom had her eyes downcast, tracing the tiniest patterns in the wood of the table. Hair tied in the same messy bun as yesterday, little strands poking out elegantly this way and that. Her hands held her cup of tea in the same deadly grip as the day before. It was still full. They hadn’t spoken a word since she’d made the tea.

He took a sip. Jasmine again. Its taste evoked the memory of her expression moments before he walked out. Apathetic.

Just under those bangs were the same eyes that glared at him for acting… he would call it selfish, but Boomer called it a bit more delicately – opportunistic. Brick thought it was just his brother’s way of letting him down slowly. He was good at that, Brick had to admit, but he didn’t need comfort now. Reality was what he needed. With the way she sat across from him, he felt all of this was far from real.

Silence engulfed them. He’s grown tired of it.

“Why did you call me back?”

Straight to the point, no-nonsense, as he usually was.

She let go of the cup. “Do you know who I am?”

_Excuse me?_

Blossom seemed to catch the way she’d put it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, what are _we?_ ”

_…EXCUSE ME?!_

She slapped her forehead as if _he_ was the one confusing _her._ “Not like _that,_ either! Just… Ugh, wait.”

As she pulled her phone out of her pocket, Brick wondered if there was anything more useful he could be doing right now. He pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for her to get to the point.

At last, Blossom handed him her phone with a picture pulled up. The picture was of… His stupid-in-love brother, standing next to some pigtailed blonde? It was an old photo, most likely from high school – he could tell from Boomer’s braces showing in his smile. His arm draped over the grinning girl’s shoulders. Brick vaguely recognized her as Boomer’s girlfriend from back then. _Wait._

“Where did you get this photo?” His hands curled around the phone as he further examined the picture.

Her fingers tapped against the table gingerly. “The guy in it is your brother, right?”

“Yes, but how do you…?” He dropped the phone to the table when he realized.

“The girl in that photo is my little sister.” He looked up at her again. Some kindness hid inside her eyes. “The two of them are highschool sweethearts.”

Pursing his lips together, Brick failed to find the reason she’d brought that up. “Yeah, they’re still together. Think the dude might be proposing in a bit.”

Blossom took a sip of her tea, avoiding a cough at the mention of a proposal. Still, she answered his question from before. “That’s why I called you back in.”

A raised red eyebrow indicated to her that he didn’t get it.

“In case they get engaged, as you say, you are, potentially, an in-law. And I don’t want to hinder their relationship because I didn’t give you the job.” Despite the lecture-like coldness in her tone, her eyes were warm. That was confusing.

“What does them being together have to do with… us? With any of this?”

“It does,” she replied simply, taking another sip. “If they find out that I’d rejected you for this, their relationship would be damaged.”

He snorted. “I don’t think so, they’re both functioning adults – us not getting along wouldn’t affect them.”

“You’re wrong about that. Bubbles, my sister, is quite perceptive. She’d pick up on it, and if they found out that it was me who didn’t give you a job in your…” Blossom picked her following words carefully, “…time of need, they would take it more personally than you’d think.”

Brick wouldn’t say it, but she was right. Boomer and Bubbles were the first to offer him help after he’d announced his situation, but he refused. They cared, they really did. If they were to find out that it was her who rejected him like this… Brick wasn’t sure how they’d react, but it would be bad for them. Or, more likely, it would be bad for Blossom. His eyebrow rose again.

“You… do realize I could just tell them, right?”

Her lips tightened into a line. Brick had struck a nerve. Not that he cared – he just sipped his tea, awaiting her response.

“If you wanted to tell them, you would have told them by now.” She mimicked him with a sip of her own tea, expertly feigning apathy. “And if you want to, you can do it, but what good does it give you?”

Even though he understood her point, he stayed quiet. Being in “his time of need”, as she’d put it, didn’t leave him as many choices as he originally thought. At least, not as many choices as good as this. She kept talking, further explaining her reasoning.

“You’d only start a fight by telling them. Then what? You don’t get anything out of that.” Her hands clasped around the cup again. “You can get the job with the wage we’ve already talked about and move in, under the condition that we never tell the two of them. I understood that you only need it for two months, to settle the debt with your landlord, yes?”

She was reading him like an open book. _Why?_ He gave an affirming “hmph.”

“Then this is it. You get a job with a good wage and a place to stay, and I get a caregiver, even temporarily.” Blossom shrugged like it was the simplest, most logical thing in the world.

Although it was simple and logical, Brick sensed some suspicious rush to her deal.

“Question.”

Blossom’s chin snapped upwards as she looked at him over the table. His cup was halfway to his mouth.

“If that is such a good deal,” he brought the cup to his lips, “then why give it to _me_ of all people?”

Brick paid attention to the way her lower lip quivered. There it was – the first reason she gave him wasn’t the only one.

“I told you, it’s because of my sister and your brother,” she insisted.

“What else?” His lips pursed at the shock in her eyes. Was she that easy to figure out? Or was he wrong?

She gulped some more tea, even though he was fairly sure that the cup was empty by now. “Funny how your brother said that this job was _your_ last resort.”

Brick tilted his head, too perplexed by the statement to wonder why Boomer had told her anything about that. “Why’s it funny?”

A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Because you’re kind of my last resort, too.”

The look in his eyes beckoned her to elaborate. She sighed before continuing. “Time’s running out. After the operation, the doctors told me that if there’s no development in the first two months, I might never walk again. One month’s up soon. I spent one half of it thinking I should give up, and the other looking for a caregiver. In all that time, you’re the only person that actually reached out for the job…”

It was his turn to take a gulp from his empty cup. He was stalling. Blossom’s story reminded him too much of Joseph’s… except hers still wasn’t over. She still had a chance to recover.

He tried not to let it show that he was unnerved by the coincidence. Instead, he managed an expression between smug and jokingly confident. “Basically, what you’re saying is, you need me.”

Seeing her cheeks light up as bright-red as her hair, Brick smirked. When she saw him like that, Blossom averted her eyes. “If that’s how you want to call it, then yes, I need you.”

Casually shrugging and biting his cheek, Brick replied, “Okay.”

His stoic face perplexed her. “Okay?”

“I accept your offer.” He reached out for a handshake. “When do I move in, when do I start?”

For a second, she sat still.

“Are you serious?”

He resisted an urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“… So we’re not telling Bubbles and Boomer?”

“We’re not telling anybody about the rejection. Let’s start over.” Brick raised a teasing eyebrow. “This is the first time we’ve met, you conducted an interview, and now you’re giving me the job.”

The shock in her face was replaced with a smile. Blossom shook his hand. “Alright then. Pleased to meet you! My name is Blossom Utonium, but you can call me Blossom.”

He laughed. “Likewise. I’m Brick Jojo, just call me Brick. When do I start and when do I move in?”

As if she’d just realized the previous questions were serious, Blossom shrugged. “Oh, as soon as you can would be great.”

“How’s… tomorrow morning?”

“Good! Uh… I’ll get you a copy of the keys as soon as possible.”

“Good. I’ll get the paperwork done with my old landlord.” Brick slowly got up and stretched his legs. “By the way, I’ll bring Buzz over tomorrow, too.”

She paused. “Buzz?”

He turned back to look at her before going for the door. “My dog.”

“Oh. Okay.” Blossom followed him. She watched him put on his jacket, those… oddly familiar and defined arms moving, overtaking her attention.

Apparently not noticing, Brick turned to her again. “Well, uh… See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you.” Her voice was too soft. Just as he’d opened the door to get out, she rushed out a “Thank you!”

His head cocked to the side to look at her once more. It was kind of endearing, how she looked at the ground to avoid looking him in the eye. Kind of like the first time he saw her.

_Right, she doesn’t remember._

Waving his hand as he walked away, Brick smiled at her. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”


	15. Moving (On), Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buzz actually listens and Butch sulks over missed calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: this turned out... much longer than I'd expected. I like to keep my chapters short, so when this went over twice the average length I just. wowie
> 
> also, I noticed some inconsistencies when it comes to my verbs so I'm working on re-writing the chapters from before, changing the tenses to match. Might take a while before the next update (keyword - _might_ , I've grown far too excited to share the rest of the story with you <3)

Buzz walked in a very odd way. Brick never had to drag him by the leash like this – he wasn’t sure what was going on with the dog. Finally settling him down in the elevator, he pressed the button for Blossom’s floor. He needed to get his dog there first, so that he could get his stuff next.

Having successfully dragged the nervous German shepherd to the door, he rang the bell. Like yesterday, she was there in seconds, smiling up at him. They walked in.

“Hell-” Blossom was interrupted by the crushing weight of a German shepherd jumping on top of her. They didn’t topple over, but Brick had a hard time pulling the beast away from her.

“Buzz! Calm down, damn it!”

His shouts didn’t do much – Buzz was all over her, licking her face and neck, pawing at her lap. To his entire struggle to pull him off, Blossom just laughed. He stopped.

“Well hello! So this is the dog you can’t go anywhere without?” She giggled between Buzz’s incessant puppy kisses. “Down, boy,” she gently beckoned, and he… actually listened to her?

Brick stared in amazement as Buzz – the most disobedient dog he’d ever met – got off of the girl in the wheelchair and sauntered off to explore the new space. He looked back at him, a decidedly… smug “smile” on his dumb doggy face.

“… Brick?” He was shaken from his thoughts by the realization that Blossom had been calling out to him for a while now.

“Uh, yeah, what’s up?” He replied in a rush.

“Something wrong?”

A breathy chuckle escaped his mouth. “Ah, no, I’m just thinking. I had to fucking _drag him_ into the building and all the way here and he just jumps onto you.”

_“Language.”_

_Oh, I gotta watch my mouth too, now?_

He laughed. “Sorry.”

She brushed a few hairs off her sweatpants. “Is he not usually like that?”

Brick followed the dog walking around the living room with his eyes. “No, actually. He’s more… aggressive, when it comes to meeting new people.”

“Aggressive?” Blossom raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Must mean he really likes you.”

As though he’d overheard their conversation, Buzz peeked up at them from behind the corner couch with one of his ears up. That earned him a hearty laugh from Blossom.

“He’s too cute! I mean, look at him! You’re telling me _that’s_ an aggressive dog?” Her hand excitedly gestured toward Buzz. He could see his tail wagging in circles like a helicopter rotor.

“Well, that’s what my last landlord said.”

“Rude.”

With his lips curled into a smile, Brick excused himself to the bathroom. Blossom spent the time giving Buzz more pets and hugs. His snout jabbed her stomach and it made her laugh. He was pretty heavy, but she didn’t mind.

The doorbell rang, and Blossom wondered who it could be. She hadn’t invited anyone else over today?

She opened it, only to find Robin standing outside. “Hey, I came over to- Is that a dog?!”

Before Blossom could put in a word, Robin has entered and knelt next to the large dog, offering him pets and squeals of “who’s a good boy?” Contrary to what Brick had said about him, Buzz accepted them gratefully, even licking Robin’s cheek appreciatively.

“Hi, Robbie!” Blossom grinned, “Meet Buzz.”

“Buzz? Buzzy-Wuzzy? Baby! Who’s a good boy?!” She cooed as she stood up. “Right, uh, as I was saying… I came over to give this back to you.”

Blossom watched as she fished a ring of keys from her pocket and detached one of them. As Robin handed it to her, she recognized it as the copy of the key to her apartment. When Blossom traveled for her competitions, she usually gave it to Robin, so she could water her plants and tend to the apartment while she was away.

“I found it while cleaning my dorm room and figured you’d want to give it to your caregiver or something,” she shrugged cheerfully.

“Thanks!” Blossom returned her smile just as she saw Brick approach from behind her. “Speaking of caregivers…”

Turning to see where Blossom was looking, Robin’s mouth opened, gasp-ready.

“Robin, meet-”

“THE HOTTIE FROM _COFFEE BELIEVE?!_ ” She interjected.

Blossom shuddered, but she didn’t say anything. Who-

“Nice to see you, too, Snyder.” He placed his hands on his hips, and Blossom had no idea what was going on anymore.

Robin’s mouth, somehow, opened even wider. “YOU KNOW ME?”

Brick raised his arms as if it was something so obvious. “Dude, we literally went to the same high school.”

Both Blossom and Robin tilted their heads to the side. Robin was the first to ask, “We did?”

“Yeah. Brick Jojo, AP Math, remember?” His shoulders slouched.

“YOU’RE Brick Jojo?!” Robin asked again.

He failed to see a reason to answer anything other than “What’s so surprising?” and rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you two know each other?” Blossom posed a question as Buzz ambled over and rested his head on her lap, asking for scratches.

“Yeah, she was in AP Math with me. I don’t get how you don’t remember me though, there was only a few of us who went to that.” Brick crossed his arms with a condescending grin.

“Because you don’t look anything like back then!” Robin pointed a finger. “You were so… so… nerdy! Top of the class! Glasses and freckles and everything! And now you’re…”

She trailed, but Brick decided it was a good chance to mess with her. His arms flexed under the long sleeves of his shirt, stretching the material. “Now I’m ‘the hottie from _Coffee Believe_ ’?”

“Ew.” Biting her nails, Robin regretted calling him that. Calling _the_ Brick Jojo “hot” felt like calling a slug “pretty”, but she hated the fact that he _was_ actually hot. How did Blossom not recognize him?

“Wait, if you two know each other, then how come you don’t know me?” Brick turned to ask Blossom with his hands resting in his pockets.

“I went both to the community high school and to a training center over in Citysville, so I didn’t have much time for many AP classes. Skating took up all my attention, so I didn’t take anything but AP English.” Blossom replied, running her hands under Buzz’s chin.

“Trust me, even if you did, you definitely wouldn’t recognize him. He didn’t look anything like…” As she eyed him over again, his smirk widened. Her hand irritably covered her face. “This.”

It only earned her a ‘tch’ as he moved to pet Buzz. “‘Thank God for puberty’, right?” He joked.

“Sure, sure.” Robin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anyway, I came over to give Bloss her key back, so it seems I gotta give it to _you_.”

“Hey, perfect, thanks.” His and Blossom’s hands brushed as she gave him the key. “Anyway, I’m off to get my stuff, do you need anything while I’m still up here?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Blossom smiled up at Robin. “Would you like to stay for coffee?”

He didn’t know why, but Brick found himself thinking _please, say no,_ as he exited the apartment.

“Oh, I’d love to!” Robin smiled back.

 _Fuck._ Brick caught himself. _Wait, why is it ‘fuck’?_

“Brick, would you like some?” Blossom asked as she rolled to the kitchen, Buzz following close behind.

“Hm?” He stopped. “Oh, sure. Thanks.”

* * *

Another missed call.

Fuck his life, apparently.

Butch fell back onto his sofa, exhaling another cloud of cigarette smoke. The TV in his living room was ignored, even though it had been turned up to a high volume. Boredom sucked him into smoking again. He took a drag, playing the game with holding it in as long as he could, and then let it out. The puff took different shapes, and Butch followed it with his eyes until it disappeared.

Disappear. What a fun thing to do.

He didn’t know what came over him to say he was her rebound. In fact, he didn’t even know what made him get up to the restroom in the first place. It might have been the beer. It might have been the twist in his stomach. It might have been the revolting look in the bastard’s eyes when he stared at her next to him. Whatever it was, Butch hated it.

If it weren’t for whatever it was, he’d be working on that goddamn album right now. They’d be in that dumb studio, hunched over that stupid table, writing shitty lyrics. She wouldn’t catch him stealing glances at her weird concentrated face. Hell, she wouldn’t even catch him “accidentally” bumping his foot against hers. She wouldn’t see him doing all that friendly shit, because of _this_ friendly shit.

What was he supposed to do? Fucking _watch_ as that asshole had his way with her? _“Give her a good time?”_ Why the hell was she so mad at him?

The TV didn’t help drown his thoughts out as it usually did. He used to switch it on as background noise and pick up patterns in news anchors’ speech, later turning them into beats. Simple, but effective. Creativity at its finest. Too bad it didn’t work now.

He had work tonight. With a place as loud as _Joker’s_ , you couldn’t hear your own thoughts, let alone the person next to you. Maybe that would help him out.

“Today’s special interview in our sports section is none other than the coach of _The Townsville Rottweilers_ , Roy Parker. Hello there, Roy, nice to see you!”

Butch turned his head to face the screen, lazily groaning. _Bro, your shit’s on TV again._

“Pleasure to be here, Joe!” The chubby man in a branded tracksuit faked a toothy smile for the camera.

“So, how’s our pack holding up? Any developments since our most recent loss?” The news anchor asked.

Butch was amused by the coach’s face. The friendly, overly-cheerful façade fell for a mere second as he glared at the other man, insulted, before switching back to a smile.

“I have to say, we’ve been improving quite a bit, Joe,” he said. “Our setbacks were cut with hours and hours of training. We’ll see how the big Stanley goes, but so far, I’m impressed with the team’s determination.”

“I see. Our stat experts say your chances are a little off, given the past four bad matches. Now that you’ll be going against _The Citysville Crows_ , people are already placing their bets on them, based on their much more successful matches. What do you think about that?”

It was like this dude had a death wish, giving Parker that much professional trash talk with the biggest, most shit-eating grin. Coach didn’t back down, though.

“Let’s call this a _rise from the ashes_ kind of situation. Our pack will show those feathery-” _beep_ “-how it’s done.”

Butch snorted. He remembered Brick told him Parker didn’t shy away from swearing on TV.

“That’s quite the statement you gave us, Roy,” Joe laughed. “However, word on the street is that your strongest left-wing, the so-called _Bludgeoner,_ had been suspended for a while. What say you to that? Will he be rejoining our pack at the Stanley Cup?”

_He’d been fucking WHAT?_

Moving too violently towards the TV, Butch lost his balance. After the fall, he sat cross-legged on the floor. His head snapped to the not-so-flattering picture of his brother pulled up on the screen behind the two men. Brick’s generic scowl matched Butch’s mood right now. _Suspended?!_

The coach licked his lips and clenched his fists before answering. “Unfortunately, no, he will not.” _What?!_ “Through intense training, we’ve found that his temper is what makes for more miscalculated moves and thus, we’d have more foul plays. Sadly, _the Bludgeoner_ is going to be out of commission for the next two months.”

Butch’s eyes stayed open as wide as his mouth before he switched off the TV. Big bro? _The Bludgeoner?_ Suspended? Temper?! If anyone out of the three of them had a temper, it was Butch, damn it! What the hell was all this about? He even put his bets on the Rotteweilers because of him! Now he was _definitely_ going to lose.

He shook his head. Fuck all about that. And about her, too. Butch was going to prepare for tonight’s gig.

* * *

Blossom set down a plate of cookies and Robin’s cup. Milk, no sugar, like her own. She didn’t know what to put in Brick’s – he’d have to add anything later, when he was done with bringing his things up.

Robin muttered a “thank you.” “Well, anything else new, besides Brick being your caregiver?”

“How did you know he’s the guy from _Coffee Believe_?! I had no idea!” Blossom’s hands slammed against the table.

“ _Girl_ , how did you _not_ know him?! Literally! Long hair, broad shoulders, _built?!_ That’s something you remember!” Robin clasped her hands.

“I didn’t really look at him, I was too embarrassed! You know how I get!” Blossom admitted.

“Eh, whatever. If you told me that _that’s_ Brick Jojo, I wouldn’t have believed it, either.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Robin propped her chin up on her hand. “Anyway, anything else new?”

“Not really.” Blossom stirred her coffee. “Did you know he’s Bubbles’s boyfriend’s brother?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, there’s three Jojo’s from our school. Him, Boomer and Butch.” Robin set her cup down.

“They’re all related?” Blossom’s eyebrows hid under her bangs.

“Yeah. Triplets.” She smiled. “The three of them were so weird back then, I wonder what they’re like now.”

“What do you mean by ‘weird’?” Blossom took a sip.

“Well, they’re triplets, but they had these totally different personalities.” Robin said, but then corrected herself. “Not like you and your sisters, I mean. All three of _you_ were more… sociable, easier to make friends with. That kinda connected you, so to speak. For those three, you’d never guess that they’re related.”

Blossom’s mouth quirked to the side. “I can’t say. I haven’t really had the chance to make that many friends with training and all. Bubbles was the most popular of the three of us, and BC befriended more guys, mostly from the school orchestra.”

Robin seemed to imitate her expression, sucking on her cheek. “Yeah, but at least you girls were kind of approachable, each in your own way. The Jojo brothers weren’t like that.”

Taking another sip, Blossom tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Really? I never would have guessed. Boomer seemed so nice when Bubbles introduced him to us.”

“Bubbles had a bit of an effect on him. At first, he was a loner artist type – she was the one who approached him. That’s as far as I can remember.” Robin glanced at the raindrops on the window. “After that, he joined her close friend group, things happened and _BOOM!_ we have our lovey-dovey artists.”

“Yeah, I remember now.” Biting down on a cookie, Blossom wondered if Robin intended that to be a pun or not. “What about Butch?”

“Oh, that guy was a whole mess.” Robin waved it off. “You’d find him everywhere _but_ a classroom. He skipped so many classes, I can’t remember even seeing him in one. Loved a good fight and… was _not_ afraid of a drink, based on what I’d seen at parties. Good at dodgeball, though.”

Humming in response, Blossom took a sip. She had one more question. “And… what was Brick like?”

As if understanding the topic of conversation, Buzz trotted over to Blossom, laying his head in her lap once more. His dark eyes glimmered, begging for pets. She gladly obliged.

Robin crossed her arms over the table. She took a thoughtful bite out of a cookie, forming her reply. “… Remember how you were a straight-A student?”

Blossom nodded.

“He was a straight-A, too, and he was more… khm, _competitive_ about it.” She waved her cookie for emphasis on “competitive”. “You’re lucky you weren’t in our class – I’d bet you two would have fought over the title of valedictorian.”

“Oh come on, I wasn’t _that_ bad, was I?” Blossom replied in a joking tone.

“You weren’t,” Robin mumbled through a mouthful of her cookie, “but he was. He had more enemies than friends. If you took a nerdy teen from a cheesy movie and added an ego that’s too big to measure, you’d get him. Resident smartass, too snappy to be a teacher’s pet. Wanted to be the best at everything, no matter what. Then again…”

The way she bit her lips together caught Blossom’s attention. There was something uncomfortable about it. Blossom offered a questioning “Hm?”

Robin brought her cup to her lips. “He was like that, up until junior year. In senior year, he kind of… faltered?”

Buzz’s ears perked up. Blossom’s eyebrow rose. “Faltered, as in?”

“As in, it was like he’d become a whole other person. Suddenly, he was all quiet, lone-wolf, not-speaking-til-spoken-to-type of guy. His grades dropped to barely above the class average. Nobody, to this day, knows what happened to him.”

Staring at her nearly empty cup, Blossom bit her cheek. _How strange._

“… And his brothers?”

“They didn’t seem to change much. But if you asked them what was up with Brick, they’d wave it off and change the topic.” Robin turned her head to the rain tapping at the window.

 _Strange – he doesn’t seem anything like either what she described now._ Blossom thought, Buzz’s snout jabbing at her stomach. _Maybe a bit snappy, but oh, well._

Blossom decided to lead the conversation in another, less mindful topic.

“… And how are things going with _the cute cashier?_ ” She said with a fiendish grin.

Robin’s hands came together in front of her mouth, an almost praying motion. “ _First of all,_ his name’s Michael.”

They laughed.

“Okay, then how are things going with _Michael?_ ” Blossom repeated.

“Oh, man, he’s…” Robin lets out an enamored sigh. “Bloss, he’s so _sweet!_ How can a guy be so sweet?! He took me out on Saturday night. Flowers, dinner, drinks, all that jazz. Classy! Gentlemanly! Kind! We’re going out again this Friday! I’m… ahhh…” Another sigh, paired with a comical swoon.

“Ooh, someone’s in _love_ , Robbie!” Blossom put emphasis on “love” by lightly shaking Buzz’s head side-to-side. His tongue lolled out of his mouth.

“Who’s in love?” Brick startled them by walking in. His head and shoulders were soaking from the shower outside. He dropped a few large cardboard boxes by the door.

Blossom and Robin looked at each other, then at him, then each other again, laughing uncontrollably. He just stood there with the expression of a teacher who was telling two rowdy students to quiet down.

“Seriously?”

“Pfft, no one, no one,” Robin wheezed as she got up. “I should probably go – the rain seems to be dying down now.”

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” Blossom asked, following her to the door.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Thanks.” She slipped on her boots, glancing at Brick behind Blossom.

Either there was something stuck in Blossom’s hair, or he was just transfixed by it, a fond stare in the redheaded girl’s direction. Robin caught it moments before he could pull the expression off his face. “Take good care of my bestie, nerd.”

Noticing him stiffen in a funny way, she stifled a laugh.

“Sure thing, Snyder,” he joked back, placing his hand on Blossom’s shoulder.

Her thoughts fall back to how Robin described him. _Snappy, nerdy, egoistical, smartass, lone wolf._ None of those words… fit the way his hand fit over her shoulder.


	16. Moving (On), Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick makes a promise, and Boomer is terrified of Eugene Utonium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: and we're BACK on our regular, torturous dose of pining. oho we learn a bit more about the Professor in this one. this chapter is actually in three parts, the third one is in the works as we speak. Thank you for the overwhelming amount of support <3

“I think your coffee’s gone cold,” Blossom said after Robin had gone out.

“No worries,” he said, “I’ll just brew a new one.”

“Oh, okay.”

Blossom peered over at the boxes he’d brought in. A few shirts popped out between the opening flaps. She wished she could have helped him somehow. His bulky arms stretched over his head – he must’ve been tired. Thinking herself a creep for decidedly ignoring his shirt riding up, Blossom offered to show him the extra room.

Next to the living room area, to its right, was a small hall. There were three doors – Brick recalled the middle one was for the bathroom. To its left must have been Blossom’s bedroom, because she led him through the one on the right.

When she switched the light on, Brick was nearly blinded by the amount of white. Three of the four walls were covered by stark white closet doors, while the wall straight ahead was covered by a floor-to-ceiling mirror. In the middle of the room was a cubical, pink couch, nearly matching the one in the living room. The only thing dark in this room was the floor – a deep, chestnut color.

He saw the way her eyes ran over each surface as if something was wrong. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” Blossom took a bracing breath. “I haven’t been in here since I came back, is all.”

Although he felt the need to ask why, Brick stayed quiet. He figured she’d tell him herself, if she wanted to. He had no right to prod, either way.

Instead of elaborating on that, Blossom talked about how he’d move in.

“We’d have to rearrange it and get the closets out. Do you think it’d be big enough?” She turned to him as he entered the room behind her.

Brick didn’t answer yet. He didn’t know where to look, he was still stunned by the fact that this whole room was just a closet.

“I guess, yeah,” he feigned nonchalance, sticking his hands in his pockets. Sitting on the couch, he asked where she’d put all the clothes.

“Oh, most of these are just ice dance costumes and dresses. My day-to-day stuff is in my room.” Blossom laughed as if it’s the most casual thing.

He took a moment to think. “… And what would you do with them if I took up this room?”

“Hm?” She moved closer to the couch, and he took notice of a wistfulness in her eyes as she gazed around the room once more. “I don’t know, to be honest. I guess it depends on whether I go back to skating or not. But since I don’t really…”

Brick had decided that he hated that wistfulness. He hated that she sounded so much like Joseph. He hated that he knew how that sentence ended before she even finished it.

“I don’t really think I’ll be able to do it.” Her eyes were cast to the floor. She continued. “So I’d probably resell them or something.”

His fists and his jaw clenched. She noticed, and finally turned her attention to him.

“You’ll walk again.” Brick promised with such certainty, it somewhat disturbed her.

Buzz walked over to them and took a seat on the floor next to the couch. He took turns glancing at each of them with some wild curiosity.

Blossom laughed through her nose. Her hands gripped the armrests of her wheelchair as if for dear life – curse the tears threatening to escape her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable now. She couldn’t be vulnerable with him – Brick didn’t know her like that. Swallowing hard, she spoke. A shivery sound, filled with insecurity.

“I don’t think it’s that easy, Brick.”

“It’s not.” His statement was firm. Factual, like he’d known this before.

And he moved before he could think. His hands held hers together by the wrists. They were calloused and large in comparison to hers, almost caging them. Too overwhelmed by the need to be reliable, he fails to see how scarred her palms look. The move was bold and brazen and… him. Their eyes met, his confident ones hooded by knitted eyebrows, red piercing into diamond pink. His face was not as close to hers as it was to her hands. And his lips were… parted…

“It won’t be easy,” his voice was dry, “but I’ll help you walk again.”

The smallest of smiles played on her lips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to thank him, so she stayed quiet. Such intensity hid behind his eyes, Blossom had to look away. She steadied her gaze on their hands, instead.

As though he’d just realized what position he was in, Brick let her wrists go. Too slowly for his liking, too quickly for her own. He made himself clear, “I’ll be taking the couch. It’s foldable, right?”

Snapping out of the moment, Blossom stuttered out, “Yeah, but are you sure?”

“Of course. Just tell me where to put my stuff.”

She shakily pointed to one of the many closet doors to his right. “Sure, that closet over there is almost empty – you can unpack there. If you need more space, just tell me and we can move some stuff out, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” He got up and patted Buzz on the head. “D’you need help with anything before I start?”

“No, I don’t. What do you want for lunch, by the way?” She asked over her shoulder, moving out of the room little by little.

He lifted his hand with a questioning look on his face. “I thought you said you can’t cook?”

“Yes, so I’m ordering out.”

Questioning turned to belching disgust. “Are you serious?”

Blossom stopped at the doorway. “Yes, why?”

“Blossom, takeout is so gross and unhealthy!” He retched, and then his eyes widened. “Wait, do you _always_ order out?!”

One of her hands flew over her collarbone defensively. “Of course not! I used to go out to eat, too!”

Brick covered his face with his hands. This would be a handful. He rushed past her, to the kitchen. “Forget unpacking, I’ll cook.”

“That’s going to be a bit, uh…” Blossom started as she followed him. Ignoring it, he opened the fridge.

To his utter shock, he finds it void of any groceries. Five water bottles sit aligned on one of the fridge shelves. _The fuck am I supposed to cook with?_ He looked back at her, and he could see her suppress a laugh at his dismayed face.

“I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a long time,” she dragged the ‘o’ out bashfully.

He checked his watch. Around one p.m. If they went shopping now, they’d return by lunchtime, but cooking would take some time, too… Fuck. He’d actually have to agree to this, huh?

An over-dramatic groan later, he moved back to the closet. “Fine, we’ll order takeout this time.”

Brick tried not to let it get to him when he heard a cheerful ‘yay’ coming from her. “But ONLY this time!” He snapped. “We’re going grocery shopping ASAP! And I’m cooking from now on!”

She scoffed at the attitude – he _was_ kind of what Robin had described. “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

He waved it off with a “whatever you want.”

“I’m feeling a bit Thai.”

“Whatever.”

She took her phone out when she remembered. “By the way, I always have coffee with my lunch. You want me to make you some while you unpack?”

“Sure, thanks.” He accepted her offer as he and Buzz picked out things from the boxes. “Milk, no sugar.”

Taking a stack of shirts into the closet, Brick couldn’t see the apprehensive smile tugging at Blossom’s lips.

* * *

Boomer’s leg shook under the table.

This was all Bubbles’s idea, and although he’d known her father for a long time, the older man was still as intimidating as when they’d started dating. He couldn’t help but think him a traditional man – one who would find the idea of having a child out of wedlock revolting. So when Bubbles told him she intended to break the news to the Professor first, Boomer began counting all the ways he could die by his hand inside his own apartment.

The number only grew higher with avoiding the Professor’s vaguely warm smile.

_Bubsy, PLEASE bring out that coffee quicker._

As if hearing his thoughts, Bubbles rounded the corner leading to their dining room with a platter of coffee and sweets. She put her father’s cup down gingerly, then his, then hers. Sitting down next to him, she squeezed Boomer’s hand for reassurance.

“Thank you, sweetie,” the Professor took the first sip with an appreciative hum.

Boomer drank his heavily sugared coffee – he needed to get that stupid lump out of his throat if he was to say anything at all.

… What was he supposed to say, anyway?! He hoped with all his heart his Bubsy would do most of the talking. Otherwise, he’d end up babbling some poor semblance of a sentence. Or worse, he’d blurt out something Butch would probably say. ‘ _Ay, pops, I knocked up your daughter.’ Ew._ Resisting a choke at the gross idea, he took another sip.

Funny how he was still _stealing glances_ at her, even though she was his girlfriend now. He had to, in front of the (subjectively) horrifying man she so endearingly called “daddy.” What could he do about that? Eugene Utonium was a force to be reckoned with. The way she seemed relaxed through all of this baffled him, and also offered him a small source of comfort.

“So, daddy, you won’t be able to come to the show?” She began, offering a smile sweeter than Boomer’s coffee.

“Sadly, no, honey.” The Professor shook his head regretfully. “There’s a symposium in Virginia that’s crucial for me to attend, and it just so happened to overlap with your show this year. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back!”

“It’s totally okay! I understand.” She chirped. “You’ve been to all the other shows – one won’t hurt. But, well, there was something I wanted to announce at the after-party. Since you’re leaving this Saturday, I thought it’d be easier to tell you now, in person, y’know.”

Boomer watched the Professor’s fingers steeple together in front of his cup. “Something you wanted to announce?” His eyebrow rose.

“Yes! Well, umm, something _we_ –” she said, lifting her and Boomer’s hands, “– wanted to announce.”

His other eyebrow joined the first one just under his hairline. Bubbles lowered their hands, and the Professor followed the movement closely with his eyes.

Looking between the two of them, the Professor grinned. That grin was just a little too wide for Boomer’s liking. “Well, what is it?”

Boomer swallowed, exchanging a half-excited, half-nervous smile with Bubbles. Another squeeze of reassurance, before she said it.

“I’m pregnant!”

It was probably a good thing that the Professor was seated. If he wasn’t, Boomer was sure he would have fallen down, judging by the way color drained from his face. The Professor froze up, his stare turning empty. Paired with that too-wide smile, Boomer avoided looking his way _even_ _harder_. Too creepy.

A beat of silence passed. His cold eyes shifted from Boomer to Bubbles in disbelief, before finally settling on his coffee. He stared at his reflection in the dark beverage.

“Wow,” he managed, in a raspy voice. “Those are… quite the news, honey. I uh… Khm, so how far along are you?”

“One month,” Bubbles beamed. “Due near the start of December.”

His hands rubbed his cheeks, and then he… smiled? Weakly, yes, but it was most certainly a smile.

“That’s… really nice, darling.”

Boomer sensed a ‘but’ incoming.

“However,” _Eh, same thing._ “I’d like to have a word with the father-to-be, if I may.”

Bubbles nodded. “Of course.”

A beat passed.

And another.

…

“In private, sweetheart,” the Professor chimed.

“Oh, right!” She giggled, giving his hand one final squeeze and retreating into the hall.

The number of ways Boomer could die in his own apartment had shot through the roof. He was writing his will in his head. _Welp, this is it, Bubs. I loved you so much. Name the baby Bro, sell all my paintings, tell Butch I was the one who broke his bike at five…_

“Mister Boomer Jojo.” The Professor addressed him far too formally for his taste.

He gulped and mustered the courage to reply. Thank god, it wasn’t squeaky. “Yes, sir?”

“What do you intend to do now?” He took a sip of his coffee, casting a serious look his way.

It was the same question he’d asked him and Bubbles after they’d graduated high school. And that, strangely, didn’t affect him as much as it did back then. Boomer explained, “I intend to marry Bubbles as soon as she wants. We’ve agreed on that. And we’re keeping the baby, of course.”

Smiling weakly, the same as before, the Professor stood and walked to the window, his back turned to Boomer. His cup was still in his hand. “… I assume you understand, this is an enormous responsibility for you. Both of you, I mean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re willing to take it upon yourself?”

Not a second of hesitation in Boomer’s response. “Yes, sir.”

A pause, and a low sigh. Listening to him intently, Boomer was all ears and anxiety.

“Boomer… When I first met you, I must admit, I was not impressed. But I supposed that, if Bubbles could love you, I could learn to respect you, at the very least.” He took a sip. “For me to say that I… dislike this, would be hypocritical, given that I was once in the same situation as you are now. The way you answered, so readily, gives me reason to trust and respect you.”

When he turned around, Boomer could see his smile wasn’t so awkwardly stretched out like before. It was genuine. Tempted to speak, he opened his mouth, but something told him the Professor wasn’t done. As he approached him, the Professor extended a hand for him to shake.

“I wish you two all the best. And… take care of my little girl for me.”

Boomer could almost hear him add an _“or else”_ in his head, but made no effort to mention it. Instead, he stood and returned the smile with a handshake.

“I will, sir. You have my word.”

Not two seconds later, the tiniest “eep” could be heard from around the corner.

“You can come out now, darling,” the Professor laughed.

_Did he know she was there all along?_

Bubbles jumped out from around the corner with the happiest, widest, face-splitting grin on her face. She enveloped them in a group hug with a giggle.

“Okay, but now I have to ask something of you,” she said, muffled by the hug.

They pulled away, and the Professor fixed his shirt. “Ask away.”

“Promise you won’t tell Blossom and Buttercup,” she said, pointing a warning finger. “I want to tell them myself.”

Boomer smiled, watching the Professor kiss her forehead.

“Alright, I promise,” he chuckled.


	17. Moving (On), Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blossom has to trust him for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: a warning for squeamish readers - this chapter mentions blisters and medically popping them. no graphic descriptions, but still.

Brick re-folded the shirts before placing them on the shelves in the closet. The sound of Buzz pacing around the room told him the dog was feeling restless. There wasn’t much he could do about that right now – he was busy.

Doing the most common, everyday things usually put him to thought. He guessed he’d have to call Dan up sometime soon for any advice he had to offer. The young man was a blessing, Joseph was lucky to have him. Hearing about Blossom’s story, he wanted to be more like Dan in that sense. He wanted to be more reliable.

When Dan told him the key to letting people trust you was to trust those people, Brick wasn’t sure if he was just messing with him. Brick’s trust wasn’t easy to come by. He’d have to get Blossom to trust him in order to help her, but… He wasn’t ready to trust anyone yet.

He’d just folded the last of his shirts when Blossom called from the hall. “The food’s here!”

“Okay!” He yelled back.

Fixing his cap in the big back mirror, Brick saw Buzz had sat next to him, snout pointed up to him. The German shepherd was in tune with his mood, it seemed, as he pawed his foot to get more of his attention. His tail moved from side to side when Brick finally leaned down to pet him.

After washing his hands, Brick helped Blossom take the boxes out of their bags. His hands brush against hers like before, and he noticed her palms felt dry and callous, reminiscent of sandpaper. She was quick to move away, but not quick enough for him not to notice little red dots on the padded skin. He took her right hand by the wrist and twisted it so it was palm-up. The little wince that she suppressed pained him, but what he saw on her hand hurt more.

Small, clustered reddened bumps threatening pop at any moment. _Blisters._ He wondered how he hadn’t noticed them before.

Loosening his hold of her wrist, his eyes traveled to her own. Her pursed lips told him she was embarrassed.

“How’d you get these?” There were about four or five of them on just one hand.

She showed him the other hand. Same thing in almost the same pattern.

When his hand reached for it and accidentally pressed one of them, she flinched. “T-turning the wheels.”

He examined them, careful not to touch them again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Thought it would just go away by itself, but that didn’t seem to help. I read somewhere that heat helps them stop swelling, so I’ve been heating them up.”

As soon as she said it, Brick looked at her like she’d grown a second head. Now the chokehold she’d had on her cup made sense. He let her hands go and slapped his forehead. “Heat doesn’t help! If anything, that makes it worse!” He shouted.

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t yell at me! It’s okay, they’ll probably go away soon!”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Watch your language!” She warned.

She could vaguely hear him mutter a “damn it” under his breath, and huffed in exasperation. Too annoyed to repeat herself.

Eyes still on the blisters, he asked if he could look at them more closely. Apprehensively obliging, she extended her hands again. Brick’s touch was mellower than before.

The tense face he put on reminded her that he’d studied medicine at one point. She was fully turned to him; he had to hunch over a bit to meet her eyes.

“Do they hurt?” He swallowed and asked. They must have hurt – like tiny bubbles poking from under the soft skin.

Blossom was glaring at the blisters. “A little,” she lied.

He caught on. Gently touching one of them, he bitterly smiled at the whine she let loose. “A little?”

Her lips tightened. “Okay, fine. They hurt.”

Standing confidently, he stretched his shoulders. The question he posed was humorous in tone. “You do realize that if I’m supposed to _care_ for you, you need to tell me if something’s wrong, yeah?”

The smile that broke on her face was one of uncertainty. “Sorry, I’m not… used to that.”

Nothing could have prepared him for that response. A beat of silence passed between them, one he used to take in what just transpired. _Not used to telling people when something’s wrong…?_ Brick despised the thought that this was like looking into a mirror.

A drawn-out sigh later, he mustered the courage to say, “We’ll… work on that.”

Her head shot up at him, sharing his expression. “Yeah.”

He stuck his hands into his pockets. “Do you have a first-aid kit in here?”

“Um… yes? Why?” Blossom said.

“They’re too swelled, we should pop them.”

“WHAT?! Ew, no!” She squealed.

“It’s better than letting them pop by themselves!” He explained.

“What if they get infected?!”

“They won’t if we sterilize them and cover them with gauze for a while.” He turned. “It might hurt, but it’ll be better in the long run.”

His explanation seemed correct enough, but she was still unsure.

Brick sighed. “Trust me,” he said without much thought.

A pause. Blossom stared at her hands like they’d offended her somehow.

“Fine, I’ll trust you.”

After she’d told him where the kit was, he sterilized a needle with rubbing alcohol and got to work. A bandage, cotton pads and several pillows of gauze were set on the dining table next to him. Sat in front of her, he slouched to have a better look.

Noticing her forearms shiver with impending disgust, Brick was compelled to look at her face. Avoiding his eyes, Blossom was chewing on her bottom lip anxiously. He pushed a very ‘Butch’ thought out of his head and rubbed a cotton pad doused in alcohol over her palm. She shivered again. This wasn’t going to work.

“... Buzz, c’mere,” he called the dog comfortably lying on the fluffy carpet over to them.

Surprisingly, he listened. Blossom raised a curious eyebrow.

“Pet him,” Brick commanded, to which her questioning stare only intensified. “This will get gross and it might sting a bit, so I need you to relax.”

Pointedly turning his eyes away from her, he was glad to find that she listened. Her other hand scratched Buzz’s head, and she only slightly whimpered when he made the first poke. Grimacing at the sight, he cleaned up the palm with a cotton pad, before continuing on to the next.

What he didn’t notice were Blossom’s eyes, trained on the way his tongue poked out of his mouth a little when he was concentrated. The soft light from the living room window fell over his sharp features. His forehead was shadowed by his unruly bangs – he didn’t seem to mind. She wondered why he didn’t fix his cap so the hair wouldn’t get in the way.

“Why do you always wear that cap?” She asked.

Brick stopped mid-reach for the bandages. Something between a smile and a cringe twisted his lips. He untangled a string of the bandage and proceeded to wrap it around her hand, over the gauze.

“It’s a gift,” he answered simply, but his tone made her think she’d asked something hurtful. Blossom wouldn’t push it.

Buzz got impatient, waiting for her to scratch him again. Now offering her other hand, she used the bandaged one to do it.

Silence was overwhelming.

“Did you finish the paperwork with your landlord?” She switched to another question.

“Yep,” he replied in a monotone voice.

“How was it?”

“Pfft, relieving,” Brick laughed.

He told her more about that, how Nancy the Horrifying Landlord was. Recounting the times him and Buzz and that mess of a woman had, he opened up more than he intended to. Still, that didn’t bother him much.

He managed to omit the part where he’d told Nancy he found a new place, and she’d immediately thought it was with a girlfriend. He didn’t even _have_ a girlfriend, but the woman was convinced the sounds coming from his apartment were lewd in nature (when they’d actually been of him trying to stop Buzz from trashing more furniture). When he’d explained that _no_ , he _did not_ have a significant other, she was as shocked as his teammates. Was that so hard to believe?

“The food must’ve gone cold,” Blossom noted when he was done, wiggling her fingers to get rid of the strain.

“Doesn’t matter,” Brick shrugged his shoulders, “We’ll just re-heat it.”

As he moved to put the kit back into place, Brick’s thoughts fell back to how he tried to find out more about her. He searched every link he could for that video, but absolutely nothing came up. Another thing – how she’d spent half a month not even wanting treatment. Finding it suspicious, Brick decided to ask her himself.

“Bloss,” he picked up a nickname his stupid-in-love brother gave her.

“Yes?” she asked, placing some of the food into the microwave.

“Can I ask you something… personal?”

Confound that he thought to ask like that, and unsure of her answer, Blossom affirmed. “You can ask me anything, but I can’t guarantee that I will answer.”

Against all advice Dan had given him, Brick asked. “How did you…” He stopped mid-sentence to swallow, wondering if his phrasing would come off as offensive. “How did you fall?”

Her raised eyebrows and a face of cruel obliviousness made him think he fucked up. As if lightly pushing her to answer, he lifted his shoulders.

“Wait, sorry, I just don’t get how that’s personal in my case.” Blossom waved her bandaged hands in a denying motion.

Now it was his turn to look perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“It was filmed for the competition, wasn’t it? So there must be videos and press coverage. It’s not exactly personal for me.” She cocked her head to the side like what she’d described was only normal.

Brick knew it was – that’s why this was so strange.

“But there’s no footage of it anywhere.” He said, unknowingly admitting that he’d been looking.

She didn’t make a big deal of it. The microwave rang – their food was ready. “Really?”

He nodded in response, feeling Buzz brush against his leg.

To all of that, she just replied, “Weird,” as she moved to her spot at the table and opened up a box of fried rice.

 _Just weird?_ “Don’t you find it suspicious?” He asked before sitting next to her.

Blossom took a sip of the coffee she’d made for them before. It wasn’t hot anymore, but at least she wouldn’t burn her tongue.

“A little, but to be honest, it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t re-watch my performances unless it’s with a coach, and even if I did…” The corner of her mouth twitches uncomfortably before she continues, “I don’t think I’d want to see that one.”

He nodded again, understanding.

Feeling like she hadn’t fully answered his question, Blossom quirked her lips. “Quadruple throw Salchow. My… then-partner and I, wanted to perform that throw jump. That’s when I fell.”

A sour taste gathered at the back of his mouth at her choice of words. _Then-partner._ Brick gulped the taste down with red curry. “Is it difficult?”

“Yeah, it took us two months to get it right.” She adjusted the bandages on her left hand. “I don’t know what happened with us, to fall like that.”

He dug his spoon back into his bowl. “And… why didn’t you want to walk again?”

Her head snapped up and back at him. Brick couldn’t tell if that was shock or fear in her eyes.

“How do you know about that?” She asked.

“You told me yesterday…?” He wondered how she didn’t remember. “You said you spent half a month thinking you shouldn’t walk again. Why?”

He didn’t miss the way she swallowed and tucked a hair behind her ear – like it was bothering her.

“We were together, my then-partner and I,” she muttered, skipping around a word she didn’t want to use, “Before the accident. And after that, we broke up.”

Brick wasn’t the meddlesome type, but something about that answer didn’t seem complete. “Is that all?”

Thinking he could have phrased that a bit less condescendingly, she closed up. “Well, _he_ broke up with me. I haven’t seen him since I was back in Russia.”

Something about her ex-skating partner suddenly felt very infuriating to Brick. He could tell that ended badly from how blankly she dug around her food. Like it didn’t seem so appetizing anymore.

With a knowing hum, Brick dropped that topic of conversation.

Although this answer didn’t seem complete to him, he’d made up his mind to unpack that with her some other day. Or maybe dig through the corners of internet to find out what happened to that video. For now, he’d deal with eating Thai takeout with someone he could now consider a friend.

“What about you?”

The question struck him out of the blue, when his spoon was halfway to his mouth. “Me?”

“Why’d you get suspended from the team?”

He thought of replying _because of you_ in the snarkiest voice, because it was partially true, based on his conversation with coach Keane. However, he decided to throw the old woman a bone – it wasn’t her fault he had to land a heavy punch on Levi, plus, she was the reason he had a job and a place to stay now. Brick wouldn’t tell her he broke her nose, though.

“Punched a dude,” he chuckled.

“What?! What for?”

“Talking too much.”

His crooked smile displeased her.

“Let’s just say, I’m too aggressive in the rink,” he flashed her a grin in response.

Now, that made her laugh, and he decided he liked the sound. “You throw around the word too much.”

“Which one?”

Digging her spoon into fried rice, she replied, “Aggressive. I don’t think you’re aggressive, you’re just…”

 _Oh this has gotta be good. Come on. Try me, Bloss._ “Just what?” He jeered.

“Hm…” She put a hand to her chin in thought. “Hot-headed.”

 _Well, that’s a new one._ He smirked. _Still kind of weak, though._ “Just hot-headed?”

Blossom joked, “Well, I could say something worse, but I’m not as _hot-headed_ as you.”

“Oh shut up, Icy,” he nudged her as he laughed.

“Icy? Really? That’s the worst you could come up with?” She laughed along.

“I could say the same about ‘hot-headed’!” He retorted.

Blossom rolled her eyes. “Shut up and eat your food, Hothead.”

“Whatever,” Brick turned back to his food before adding, “If I’m Hothead, you’re Icy. I don’t make the rules.”


	18. Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Buzz is a good boy and Brick has weird dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay WHOOP it took a lot to write this one. Two new things though:
> 
> so you might already know I have a writing tumblr (https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/) (feel free to reach out btw :D) BUT I also made a yt playlist for this fic, since I mostly draw my inspiration from music.
> 
> here it is, if you'd like to take a listen (it's not complete, since I'm adding more songs as chapters progress and I don't want it to be spoily hehe. the order of tracks is kind of related to the progress of the story, I'll let you guess which songs go with which ship >:D)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj

While he arranged his pants into the spacious closet, Blossom sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket and petting Buzz as they watched TV. Just as he’d settled the last of his stuff in the closet space, the sun had begun to set. Brick emerged from the closet room to find her looking like a pink burrito, and muffled a laugh.

“You good in there?” He crossed his arms as he leaned on the doorway.

Both of their heads whipped up at him at the same time, Buzz’s ears pointing up inquisitively. She smiled up at him, hand peeking out of the blanket and stuck in Buzz’s fur.

“Couldn’t be better,” Blossom simpered, “Are you tired?”

“A little.” He moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, cracking his knuckles. His jaded smile widened at the little cringe on her face. “How are your hands?”

She pulled the other hand from the blanket and inspected them, before lifting them for him to see. “They’re okay, I think. They don’t sting as much as they did before.”

Brick took her right one and moved it gently, taking care not to loosen the bandages. “Do you want to replace those now or in the morning?”

The tiniest yawn he’d ever seen escaped her, hand rushing to cover her mouth. It was contagious, and he followed soon after. They laughed it off.

“How about tomorrow?” Blossom threw her head back. “We’re pretty worn out, don’t you think?”

Rubbing his eyes, he groaned. “Alright, let’s get you to bed, Icy.”

“Wha-”

Before she could finish, Brick hoisted up the pink blanket-burrito bridal-style. She was glad the setting sun cast rosy light over the room, otherwise he’d notice the prominent blush rising up her cheeks. Without much thought, her arms snaked around his neck for support. There was a witty grin and a raised eyebrow pointed in her direction that she was too ashamed to acknowledge. As he was taller than her, his strides were longer. He carried her to her room. And how did he pick her up so easily?!

“Brick, y-you didn’t have to.” Her heart threatened to beat out of her ribcage.

She could feel his chest heaving with a laugh. “I’d still have to carry you, since you can’t get in bed yourself.”

“Yes, I can!” Blossom bickered, though not quite opposed to this.

He used the hand holding up her knees to open the door, cautious not to drop her. After he’d made it in, Brick led and put her to bed. The weight of him lowered her into the mattress, before he withdrew and chuckled down at her. Blossom’s brow furrowed.

“I need to change.” She gritted her teeth as she untangled from the blanket around her.

“Ah, right, sorry.” Brick turned to leave.

“No, wait,” Blossom reached out a hand without thinking, “I actually need help.”

Something between a choked noise and an inquisitive hum left Brick. Heat rose to his face, but he said nothing as he turned back around.

“Just with pulling the lower part on… I can get the shirt on myself.” Her brittle voice told him she was still unsure, but he could appreciate the fact that she asked for help at all.

Blossom asked him to hand her the pajamas. With a soft ‘okay’, Brick he did as she said, then leaned back on the dresser by the door and waited. His eyes trailed across the shelf of rewards, admiring the way light bounced off the gold. Her name was engraved on each one.

“Could you… turn around? Or close your eyes?”

He heard her, suddenly aware of Blossom holding the edges of her sweater, getting ready to change. Twisting his lips into an awkward cringe, Brick mumbled a ‘yeah’ as he put his hands over his eyes and shut them tight. Shuffling of a soft material occupied his ears, which were tinted red. He had enough self-respect not to look.

“I’m done,” she said, and he lowered his hands.

As soon as he laid eyes on her, Brick knew the next part would be tricky. Her loose shirt fell over her figure too pleasantly, he had to peel his gaze away. Focusing, instead, on how her hair framed her face, he steadied his breath. He didn’t understand what was so bewitching – this was his job now. So why…

“Okay, so how do I…?” Brick gestured vaguely with his hands. Not a single idea came to mind.

She gripped her sweatpants, brain obviously running a mile a minute. Great, she was just as nervous. Brick had to push her out of that mindset quickly. Except, that was the same hurdle he’d have to jump over. He’d still do it, for her.

Managing a weak semblance of confidence, he coughed. “Listen, Icy.”

And when she looked up at him like that, what little confidence he’d mustered, spiked.

“I know you’re new to this, so am I. But, this is how life is now,” he paused, coughed, and corrected, “For now. I’m just as nervous as you. We need to be… reasonable, now, and get over it, because I’m helping you, remember?”

Blossom was conflicted on whether or not she liked his directness. Still, she had to admit, he was right. Her nails dug into the material of the sweatpants.

“If you’re not sure, if you don’t want me to help yet, I’ll understand. If you can do it yourself, I don’t mind, but…” Brick held back the words he needed to hear so long ago. _But you don’t have to do everything on your own._

She wrung her fingers free of the clothing. This was different than letting him take care of her bandages. This had to do with her state. This was Blossom, realizing that the moment she asked for help, she was coming to terms with life like this.

In her mind, there was nothing wrong with that before Brick came into the picture. Before, the moment she thought of asking for help, images of Dexter flashed in her mind.

_You can’t win anything without me, Blossom._

His face brought memories of happiness and despair and love and fear, much like the idea of walking again. And it was crushing her.

Now, there was Brick – the reminder of her limited capabilities. She wanted to hug him and she wanted to rip him to shreds for giving her even the slightest sliver of hope.

_You’ll walk again._

Blossom hated and loved to believe him.

“Help,” was all that she could say, voice flickering like she was afraid.

The bed sheets scuffled as he sat in front of her.

Her hands trembled. He took them.

“Tell me what to do.” Brick sounded painfully understanding.

She placed his hands on her thighs, not feeling a thing. “Just… pull them off, I guess.”

His eyebrows knitted in a desperate attempt to stop the heat making its way to his cheeks. She didn’t look at him, and he was glad she didn’t. Brick’s fingers held on to the hem of the sweatpants, carefully dragging them lower. He caught the tiniest whimper coming from her, trying his hardest not to let his little brother’s train of thought possess him. The limpness of her limbs alarmed him, even though he’d seen worse.

 _Damn it_ , he thought when he finally dragged them off her ankles. It felt too intimate – he didn’t like it. He reminded himself again and again that _this was his job now_ , that _he should act professional._ And he was reminded of the reason he’d given up on med school. Brick was _not_ meant for this.

A glance in her direction. Some weird combination of delightful and dreadful crossed her face. Guilt washed over him. He had no time to deal with it.

“… Lie down,” he said.

As she did that, he lifted one smooth leg, sliding it through one leg of the pajamas down to the knee. The action was wordless, for the better. He repeated it on the other leg. And when he finally tugged the pajama bottom over her hips, Brick couldn’t help the airy sigh of pride. He did it.

“There,” he beamed down at her, lowering the legs back down, “All done.”

She peeked up from between her fingers – had she really covered her face? His smile took a turn for the smug; how childishly shy of her. Not that he was any better, though.

And he swore…

_WHAM!_

Buzz jumped on top of him. Blossom and Brick shrieked in near-unison as he crashed over her. Only luck would have it that they didn’t bump heads. His landed next to her own, buried in a mess of red locks. The beast he called a pet dog would _not_ get off, bouncing around like it was the best day of his life.

“BUZZ, GET OFF, GET OFF,” he shouted, without much success.

He hoped to all heavens and hells that he wasn’t crushing her with his weight, that she was fine. The shaking under him frightened him, but one pull away and one peer down told him she was… laughing?

Unmistakably, she was laughing. A messy, cackling, snorting laugh, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. Head thrown back, exposing a pale, swan-like neck. If it weren’t for his arms supporting him over her, and for his fearful pride, Brick would have dropped over again. He laughed along, head falling back to where it was, over her right shoulder.

His eyes widened at the feeling of arms wrapping around his neck in a light hug. He froze up. This was so strange. Unknown. Unfamiliar. But… not unwanted.

 _What the hell?! No._ This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

“Buzz,” Blossom wheezed between laughs, “get off.”

Just like magic, the enormous dog jumped off the bed, panting with his distinct doggy smile.

 _Thank fuck_ , Brick thought, swiftly pulling away and shuffling off of her. She sat up, out of breath, propped up by her arms. Curse his very Butch thoughts.

“Thanks, Brick,” she said.

He snuck a glance at her face again, before getting up. “Good night, Icy.”

A whispered “Good night, Hothead” and the shifting of a blanket.

Buzz followed him out the door.

He could barely fall asleep, constantly tossing around the unfolded couch and adjusting his covers. Hugging Buzz close, Brick spent a good three hours staring at the ceiling, convincing himself that _he just had trouble sleeping in new places._

That was until his exhaustion caught up to him, and he dreamt of white, cloudless skies, fields of daffodils and delicate hands brushing dirt from his face.


	19. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick sings, cooks, and reads tabloids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After torturous re-editing of the previous chapters, I'm back! You might notice some changes, since I'll be editing the tags to look less... messy ^^'  
> Thank you all so much for the support! It's still unbelievable to me :D  
> You can find my tumblr and the fic's playlist in the end note

Brick opened his eyes to the sound of his noisy alarm and the beams of sun bursting through the wide window. He was vaguely aware of his dog snoring up a storm next to him as he got up and did his morning stretches.

Stretching – for what? It wasn’t like he had morning practice now. The power of habit, he’d guessed, pushed him to do them anyways. _Better not be out of shape when I’m back._

When he was back… Brick was going to give them all hell. He was going to play center. He was going to show all those fuckers how it’s done. He was going to mess Levi up – those punches he threw weren’t enough for what the fucker said.

In seven days, the Stanley Cup was going to show them they can’t do _shit_ without him. Brick was going to watch them trip over each other without him there, and laugh. All the things he was going to do…

Didn’t matter much, now that he had this job. His alarm was set up for seven a.m. as usual, so it was around seven thirty when he finished the morning exercise. Tying his hair in his signature low ponytail, he set off to make breakfast.

 _Ah, hell,_ he thought as he opened the fridge and found it as empty as yesterday. Make breakfast out of what? He rolled his eyes and closed it. Tugging on a strand of his hair as he contemplated going to the grocery store down the street, he decided to check on Blossom.

Light streamed into the room from the gaps between the curtains, leaving the space with this irresistibly soft atmosphere. Her hair messily tangled across the pillows and sheets. Was it possible for someone to look cute when they slept? He wasn’t sure, but with the way her cheeks were colored a light pink, he’d have to think twice. Crouching next to the bed to be at eye-level with her, Brick felt bad for waking her about something as simple as breakfast.

“Psst.” He shook her shoulder lightly. “Icy.”

The tiniest groan she let out in protest made the hairs on his neck rise to attention. _God damn it._ “Icy,” he said more sternly.

“Hm? What time is it?” she asked, cheek squished by the pillow.

“Too early to get up,” he joked dryly, “What do you want for breakfast?”

Blossom peeked at him through one eye, and smiled drearily. “Whatever.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” He tapped her shoulder. “What do you want?”

Pulling the covers closer, she mumbled something that sounded faintly like ‘bake necks.’

“Bacon and eggs?” He laughed, and got a weary nod in reply. Bacon and eggs it was, then. “I’m going to the store to pick that up, but we’ll go grocery shopping later for real, okay?”

Another sleepy nod. Her croaky voice was quieter. “M’kay, you got money in the drawer by the TV.”

“Okay,” Brick said, tucking the covers over her before leaving her to sleep.

He hadn’t noticed a particularly bleary dog follow him into the room. Buzz had been standing silently next to him, apologetic little eyes staring at Blossom. Raising an eyebrow at him, Brick pet his head. Before he could say anything, the German shepherd climbed up to the bed.

His breath (and impending shout) caught in his throat when the dog circled twice, and then nestled into bed next to Blossom, placing his snout protectively in the nook of her neck. Whether consciously or unconsciously, she simpered in a low tone, and adjusted her shoulders to welcome the dog. Buzz looked at him strangely, as if to ask “What? Got a problem?”

Brick hadn’t planned on letting the chaotic dog stay. His trust in that destructive behavior wasn’t big enough. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to tear the two apart now. So, with a sigh and a warning point of a finger, Brick left Buzz where he was.

“Make a mess and I’ll take you to the vet to give you a shot with the biggest needle you’ve ever seen,” he whispered to him threateningly, using the same tone a parent might use on a misbehaving child.

If dogs could raise one eyebrow, Buzz was, most certainly, doing so. Hoping Blossom was sleeping soundly enough not to have heard his one-sided conversation with their pet, Brick went back to the living room. After pulling Blossom’s wheelchair back to her bedroom (in case she needed to get up before he got back), he changed, put on his cap, took the money, and went on his way to buy eggs and bacon.

* * *

The most typical pop played as he entered the corner store. He picked up a shopping basket and made his way to the appropriate aisles. Brick wasn’t one to look around. _Get what you need and get out._

However, his plans changed when a familiar green-clad figure bumped into him by the freezers. “Bro!” Butch exclaimed much too loudly for Brick’s liking.

“Hey,” Brick greeted, “What’s up?”

“Not much, getting some drinks before I get to the studio,” Butch said, showing off three cans of Monster in his basket.

Brick rolled his eyes at his brother’s choice of drink. “Still working on that contest?”

“Yep,” he popped the ‘p,’ “My partner ditched me, but I figured ‘fuck it, I’ll do it myself then,’ and… yeah.”

The elder sibling whistled lowly, continuing his walk to the meat aisle, Butch following closely. “Why’d they ditch you?”

“Long story,” Butch threw his head back in exasperation.

“I’d let you tell me over coffee if I had time,” Brick pursed his lips, half-interested, half-wary.

“Aw, Bro, I thought you always had time for me!” he nudged with a laugh.

That earned him a snort as Brick picked a carton of eggs from the freezer. “Some of us have _jobs_ , Butch.”

“Since when?” he grinned. “I heard _The Bludgeoner_ got suspended.”

“I found a new job.”

“Really?”

Brick froze up at that. Had he forgotten to tell his brothers? Possibly. He _had_ gotten quite caught up in all this. “Yeah, I’m actually uh… A caregiver, temporarily.”

“Oh, so like Dan?” Butch asked, to which his brother nodded. He added, “For whom?”

“Blossom Utonium, ex…” Brick trailed, and then broke that thought. “Blossom Utonium, figure skater.”

He missed the way Butch’s shoulder twitched at the name. Brick sped to the meat section.

“Isn’t that the thing-” Butch began, only to be cut off as Brick took a pack of pre-cut bacon.

“Yeah, it is,” he bit the words, already knowing what he was going to ask.

“Damn.”

The pair of brothers continued walking together, Brick stopping again to pick up a loaf of bread.

“So what’s it like?” Butch asked.

He tilted his head. “Don’t know. I only got the job like, two days ago. But so far, it’s okay.”

An amused look played on Butch’s face. “I heard Nancy kicked you out, what’s up with that?”

Brick’s shoulders fell. “Oh, don’t even get me started. I’m _so_ glad I’m out of her apartment.”

“Oh? You already found a new place?”

He hoped that gulp wasn’t visible. “Yeah, I live with Blossom, actually.”

Butch whooped at that, and it only earned him an annoyed hum. “Don’tcha think you’re moving a bit fast, loverboy?”

“It’s not like that, you idiot,” Brick scoffed, retching at the nickname. “She’s just my employer. Or boss, if you want to call it that.”

A crooked grin climbed up Butch’s face. Brick made a show of ignoring it and turning to go towards the cash registers.

They waited in a surprisingly long line. Who knew people got up this early to go shopping? While the cashier scanned other people’s items, one magazine on the news rack by the register took up Brick’s attention.

It was a copy of _Townsville Throwaway_ – a well-known tabloid. In bold, tall letters, one of the many topics read:

**THE MELTING – WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ICE QUEEN OF TOWNSVILLE? Find out on page 7!**

Right underneath the title was a peculiar picture of… Blossom, probably from an old photoshoot. He took the paper, holding it like it was filthy. Flipping to page seven, he failed to notice Butch looking over his shoulder.

“Who’s that? She’s kinda hot.” His comment went ignored. It didn’t matter – as soon as he’d read the name in the article, Butch understood. “Oh.”

Brick was fully concentrated on reading the yellow press.

_After weeks and weeks of inactivity, Blossom Utonium, the former Ice Queen, resurfaced in her hometown. We’ve been unable to conduct any official interviews, but our teams will keep in touch with the famous skater’s manager. As for any commentary from her former partner, Dexter McPherson, we’ve only gathered that he’s moved on to more contests with a new partner, Ivy Johnson (more on page 9!) The disappearance of all footage from the tragic event continues to boggle our minds,_

Here, Brick paused. So he wasn’t going insane – all footage had truly disappeared, but how? He continued reading.

_but our teams are persistent in finding out more about it. As we’ve written in the previous issue, any video or photo evidence of the accident at the World Figure Skating Championships had mysteriously gone missing, and continues to go missing as soon as it’s posted! Utonium’s agency and manager continue to deny any involvement._

“$11.85,” stated the cashier, eyeing him impatiently.

It knocked him back to reality. “Bro, you okay?” asked Butch.

Brick put the magazine back and pulled out his money to pay. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You looked a bit shaken.”

“It’s nothing,” Brick insisted, packing his items into a bag.

Butch could only shrug as he watched him trudge away. “See ya,” he said, concern unnoticeable in his voice.

“Yeah,” Brick waved back, “See ya.”

* * *

Blossom awoke to the smell of bacon, melodious mumbling, and wiry fur tickling her neck. She turned her head to find Buzz comfortably lying next to her, and reached out to give him scratches. He let out an affectionate ‘wuff’, flipping over on his back to show off his belly. Giggling at his antics, she stroked his messy fur and thought of last night.

She recalled her dreams weren’t pleasant. The cold notion of abandonment and hostility had been crawling around her mind the whole night. Dreams of red-haired partners and bleeding hands and slipping on ice made her wish she didn’t need to sleep at all. Unlike the very first night she’d arrived, Blossom kept her tears quiet, in fear of waking her new roommates. Sleeping alone felt like sleeping in snow, and despite the warm blankets, she’d been freezing.

Heat only came that morning, when she’d been woken by Brick and Buzz. Being overpowered by her tiredness, she could scarcely remember what he’d asked her then. All she could remember was an amiable snout making its way over her neck, and the much needed warmth it gave her.

As much as she wanted to stay and pet the dog some more, Blossom’s stomach protested with a growl. It was like the smell beckoned her over.

She managed to slide out of bed and into the wheelchair without Brick – she’d gotten better at that in the past few days, while she was still alone. Although, a little help would have been appreciated. Then again, hearing him mumbling from the other room, she’d gotten curious and decided not to interrupt him. As quietly as she could, she rolled out of her room into the hall.

What she found, she’d never expect.

Brick was in the kitchen, dancing awkwardly next to the stove. Over the sizzling, she could hear him singing a song she didn’t know, but she somehow guessed that it was humorously off-tune. And as tone-deaf as it was, the energy he put into it was endearing. She watched him sway, with his hair loose and free, blissfully unaware of her staring. She found that he wasn’t half bad of a dancer. In fact, if she could, she would have joined him… For now, Blossom would settle with silently observing what she guessed was a rare sight.

“ _I was a looooonesome cowboy,_ ” he drawled happily, shaking his head to the beat, “ _I didn’t have a friend, now I got friends comin’ out my ears, I’ll never be lonesome again._ ”

She could no longer contain the giggles bubbling inside, and her cover was blown. Brick turned around, wide-eyed and bashful.

“Didn’t know you came with a singing service, _Lonesome Cowboy_ ,” she teased, moving closer to see what he was cooking up.

His hand flew behind his neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Not at all,” Blossom smiled, “I just found it cute.”

If he could have gotten any redder, he definitely had. She didn’t seem to notice, eyes intently focused on the cooking pan.

“It’ll be done soon,” he announced, “You can sit at the table, I’ll be in a minute.”

She followed his instructions, still keeping an eye on him from the dining table. The sizzling died out, and she watched him fumble around. Blossom smiled, knowing what he was looking for.

“The counter under the faucet,” she said, snickering at the confused flicker of his eyes.

“Right,” he nodded, “Thanks.”

As he bent over to open the door and get the plates, Blossom paid close attention to the way a few strands of his hair flew in front of his face. Her hands fidgeted with the well-hidden wish to tie it up herself. Was it soft? Or was it stiff, like Buzz’s fur? She guessed she wouldn’t know until she got those bandages off her hands, and even then…

 _…What the heck are you thinking about?!_ Blossom could practically feel the redness of her cheeks. He’d never let her touch it, she knew by the way she disliked when anyone touched _her_ hair without permission. She must have been wrong to think she’d ever feel it, and prayed he couldn’t see how flustered she’d gotten.

A plate of eggs and bacon was presented before her, smelling incredibly appetizing. He put a glass of water next to her medicine, for after she’d eaten. Mouth watering, Blossom dug in ravenously, while Brick took a plate for himself.

“And?” he asked.

She looked up from the plate, humming through a mouthful.

“Is it good?” Brick contained a laugh at her expression.

All she could offer was a thumbs-up before continuing to stuff a bite of bacon into her mouth. It wasn’t _good,_ it was _marvelous._ He chuckled as he sat down next to her.

“We should go shopping – I only got this for breakfast, we need more if I’m supposed to cook.”

“Oh you’re supposed to, alright,” she laughed, “This is really good.”

Laughing through his nose, Brick took a bite of his eggs. “Okay, so we change, replace your bandages, and then go shopping, right?”

“Yep.”

As soon as she’d replied, Buzz trotted up to the table next to Brick. He was sitting on his haunches, clearly pleading. That was when Brick remembered.

He got up from his seat. “Ah, shit-”

“Language.”

Freezing up, he turned and raised a teasing eyebrow at Blossom. “Ah, _heck_ , I forgot to feed Buzz.”

That earned him a jokingly affronted gasp. “You _monster._ How _dare_ you.”

He laughed, taking Buzz’s bowl and filling it with crunchy dog food. “How dare I, indeed. How can I ever be forgiven.”

“You’ll _never_ be forgiven, you inconsiderate man,” she giggled.

The German shepherd only cocked his head at the strange interaction. If only dogs understood sarcasm.

He didn’t seem to care much after he was given his food bowl.

Brick returned to the table.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked. “I hope the couch was comfortable.”

“Yeah, it was good. I slept well. And you?”

“Same, same.” Blossom took a bite to swallow the lie.

Brick paused. He wasn’t sure whether it’d be smart to ask her more about the fall. Instead, he asked about other plans. “Did you think about physical therapy?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you.” She whipped her head up. “I sent an e-mail to the clinic my dad has connections to – I’ve always gone to that one instead of the public hospital. My doctor said we can schedule sometime next week. When’s good for you?”

“Whenever suits you,” he said. “It’s not like I have anything important going on at the moment.”

“Aha. So how’s next Tuesday?”

“Sure. Just tell me when and where, I’ll take you.”

“Alright.” She finished her plate. “I’ll message Dr. Fox later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/  
> fanfic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj
> 
> A/N: the song mentioned is "The ballad of the lonesome cowboy" by Chris Stapleton  
> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i0v3If6pirI) - those of you who recognized it know your cartoon references :D


	20. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch's studio is (not) haunted and Blossom visits a PT

Four days later, Butch began to notice… odd things.

Upon deciding that he shouldn’t give up because of something as stupid as a fight, he went to the studio as often as he could and recorded things by himself, for himself. Writing his own lyrics felt weird without her to interject with a snide comment. Making beats came to him like second nature, but every so often, he’d find himself glancing at the Yamaha BB series guitar in the corner and thinking of how anything he mixed now felt dull without her added instrumental. _No friendly shit_ indeed. His phone calls and text messages went unanswered still.

The first thing happened two days ago. Butch arrived at the studio earlier than usual. The previous night, he stayed at _Joker’s_ until five a.m. and thought he might as well just pick up some breakfast and go straight to work. A trip to McDonald’s later, he’d arrived and made himself comfortable. His senses were still dull and hazy from the party, ears ringing with remnants of bass. But he was absolutely sure of one thing – Butch could smell a whiff of perfume in the room.

Not a thin, floral one, either – a powerful, masculine eau-de-parfum, reminiscent of the aftershave he used. It was even stronger when he walked into the restroom.

An awful thought crossed his mind, and Butch spent the next hour checking and double-checking if anything was missing. Someone must have broken in!

When he was done, his hands massaged his temple in distress. Nothing was taken. Trying to brush away the idea that he was just being paranoid and imagining things, Butch got himself to keep working. That was the day he was surprisingly productive.

The day after that, he got to the studio around eleven a.m., out of sheer boredom. The lack of motivation that usually followed an inspired session urged him to kick his own ass. _Why stop now?_ , he thought, willing himself to finish another track.

As he opened up his laptop, his pen dropped under the table with a distinct _clack_ , and he eased off of the bar stool to pick it up. Just as he took it, Butch’s eyes landed on something neon green by the leg of the table. He pulled it over and rolled it around in his hand. A green pen. Strange – he didn’t recall having this one.

Without much thought, Butch added it to his pen cup. Paranoia spiked again, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was too angry with himself for having this much creative burnout after just one day of mixing. His focus turned back to writing lyrics again.

Yesterday was the weirdest occurrence. Arriving to the studio earlier than the day before, Butch turned on the laptop. The same scent attacked his nostrils, even though he was sure he’d gotten used to it. Or was it that the scent wasn’t there the day before…?

He was going to record that day. After he’d set up the microphone, he grabbed his papers and began to re-read the verses, to prepare his enunciation.

Except that’s what he would have done, if those were his papers. The words written on them weren’t his own. The handwriting was rushed but neat, bold black letters scribbling sentences he didn’t recognize. Were those always there, and he just shuffled them the wrong way?

He frantically looked around, his mind running a mile a minute to grasp the situation at hand. That’s when he noticed – the guitars weren’t in the same position he’d left them in. As a matter of fact, he’d _never_ even touched them. Why would he? He didn’t know how to play! So why was it…

As if cold water was just dropped over him, he threw the papers onto the table. It clicked. The scent, the papers, the misplaced items…

Butch was dealing with a ghost.

That had to have been it! It only made sense! And Butch had to get to the end of this!

That was it! He was going to spend the night here, and catch it! Or at least banish it the hell out of this studio! All those episodes of _Buzzfeed Unsolved_ prepared him for this!

At least, that’s what he shakily told himself. But like hell was he going to let some undead asshole haunt this place. And after he’d gotten rid of it, he could keep working on his album in peace!

His… no, _their_ album. Whatever the hell.

* * *

Brick sat on the bench in the waiting room, unable to stop his leg from fidgeting. Blossom was sat next to him, impatiently tapping the armrests of her wheelchair. As good as the private clinic was, waiting for the X-ray scan to develop was killing them. It only made less sense that they were the only ones in the hallway. Still not trusting Buzz, Brick insisted on bringing him along. Since the clinic didn’t allow pets inside, they’d had to tie the poor dog on a leash outside. The TV in the corner played a movie to no one in particular. The dim afternoon rays of light fell between the curtains.

The previous night was a mess for them. Blossom had proclaimed she wanted to take a shower, and after about an hour of debating how they would go about that, they had finally come to an agreement. Brick had put her in the bathtub in only her underwear, leaving her clothes close, and let her shower alone. Once she was done, he helped her dress. He couldn’t understand what the big deal was – Dan always helped Joseph shower. Of course, he and Blossom were the opposite gender, but she was making this way harder that it could have been. At least, that’s what he’d told himself. She was not supposed to know that he’d been just as diffident as her.

Blossom hated the antiseptic smell of hospitals. Besides completely preoccupying her senses, it came with the same sense of dread she’d felt back in Russia. Her own tongue threatened to choke her by pressing into the top of her mouth, anxiety overcoming her. One month wasted. Would there really be any chance…?

Her eyes trailed to her caregiver, sitting like he was waiting on death row. His gaze was cast to the floor. Unbeknownst to her, Brick had been in this position before. To him, there was never any comfort in waiting rooms. The only thing she knew in that moment was her hand, having a mind of its own, hesitantly lifting to touch his shoulder as if he were the one who needed the comfort.

“Miss Utonium?” A nurse finally peeked from the door, her shrill voice echoing in the empty hallway. Blossom’s hand retracted.

Their heads snapped to attention.

“Dr. Fox is ready to see you.”

They exchanged a glance that wordlessly said “Well, this is it,” before he stood to push her into the doctor’s office.

Dr. Fox was a middle-aged woman, Blossom would guess she was the Professor’s age. Her platinum-blonde hair was tangled like spider webs, framing a stern face. Her office was stark-white, lit up by sunlight streaming from the windows behind her desk. Two chairs were situated in front of the desk. An examination table stood by the windows and a cabinet of supplies. A lone leather coat stood hung on the coat rack by the door. Dr. Fox lowered her reading glasses to size up the pair, before telling Brick to place Blossom on the examination table and pull down her sweatpants.

He stared into her eyes with reassurance as he put her on the cushions. Blossom grit her teeth and propped herself up on her elbows. After he’d done as the doctor said, Brick took a seat in one of the two chairs.

Dr. Fox took the X-ray scans of Blossom’s spine, putting them up by the light of the windows, and narrowing her eyes as she examined them silently. She then asked Blossom questions regarding her sleep schedule, medicine intake, and diet. After thoroughly questioning her, the doctor pored over her legs, lifting them, moving them to a certain accord. All the while, her expression was unreadable.

Finally, she fell back to her desk chair with a deep sigh.

“Miss Utonium, I’m afraid to tell you, you’re dangerously close to developing CES, judging by the symptoms you’ve named,” the doctor said, putting her glasses into a pocket of her uniform.

Brick’s head shot up at that. Cauda equina syndrome – he’d heard about that from Dan, but not enough to understand what it was completely. All he understood was that her condition could worsen.

“I’m curious, though – why didn’t you visit immediately after the incident?” The doctor asked.

Blossom sucked on her cheek, eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know. I wasn’t ready.”

Dr. Fox twisted her thumbs around one another, expertly hiding a hint of frustration. “Well, because you ‘weren’t ready’, your chances of recovery had plummeted.” She began to tap away on her computer. “At this point, the best thing I can offer you is an attempt at hydrotherapy, and even then, that won’t guarantee anything.”

Brick could only stare with wide eyes as Blossom’s jaw dropped. Although he knew that wouldn’t help anything, a strange urge to punch something overcame him. Blossom seemed to notice, her soft voice dragging his attention away from such thoughts.

“So my best chance is hydrotherapy?” she asked, not letting her wriggling fingers show her insecurity.

“Yes.” The doctor turned the screen to face Blossom. “Our clinic has a pool and well-trained specialists for exercises and massages that could help alleviate some of the pains. Your insurance should be able to cover all costs.”

Blossom pursed her lips. “No, it’s not the costs I’m worried about, just…”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose, awaiting a continuation. Feeling his jaw clench, Brick could tell what was on her mind. And he hated it.

“Be realistic, doctor,” she said, “What are my chances?”

Her face turning more serious and somewhat offended, Dr. Fox replied, “I’m being realistic when I say, Miss Utonium, your chances are slim, but not non-existent.”

Brick caught the way little light in Blossom’s eyes subtly disappeared. Her nails dug into the cushion in a desperate attempt to control a flood of emotions. He had to stop that.

“Sign her up for that, doctor.” He didn’t move an inch at Dr. Fox’s incredulous expression directed at him. Blossom looked at him similarly.

“What’s your relationship to her, mister…?” she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Brick Jojo. I’m her caregiver.”

“Right. Well, Mr. Jojo,” she near-spat out his name venomously, “I’m afraid the only one who can make that decision for Miss Utonium is herself. I’ve told her everything she would need to know.” She turned back to Blossom, a more lecture-like tone to her voice. “If you need time to consider, Miss Utonium, I’ll understand. You have my e-mail address, feel free to send me any questions you may have before you decide.”

He relented, shoulders slouching with defeat. Blossom didn’t say anything.

The doctor’s gloved hands slammed against the desk as she stood up. “Well, that’s all I’ve had to say on that matter. Do you have any questions now?”

Blossom and Brick locked eyes. His face exuded something determined and deliberate, while her tightened lips told him she was still unsure.

“No, Dr. Fox,” Blossom concluded, glance turning toward the ground. “Thank you.”

Remaining silent, Brick moved to pick her up and place her back in her wheelchair. She didn’t put her hands around his neck this time, and as much as it pained him, he understood.

The ride home was silent, aside from Buzz’s panting in the back seat.

* * *

Salt at the doorstep – check. Holy water in his pocket – check. Cross around his neck – check. A pan for self-defense… check? Oh Butch was _so_ ready for this.

The lights of the studio were turned off, the only source of comfort being the street and the moon outside. It didn’t bother him – Butch had gotten over his fear of the dark way back in eighth grade.

“Are there any ghosts in here?” He asked, standing in the middle of the room. Nothing.

“Any spirits, ghouls, demons, whateverthefucks?” No response.

Butch sighed. The clock neared midnight, and as he figured was common knowledge, all things spooky happened after midnight. He stood behind the door, prepared for anything and everything.

Well, not entirely prepared. What he lacked was sleep.

Ever since the little incident with Butts, he relied heavily on energy drinks to keep him up during his shifts at _Joker’s_. The odd thing being, he didn’t _use_ to need them before. Butch used to be able to pull all-nighters on just one coffee. Now, he wasn’t sure how much of his blood was blood and how much was _Monster_ or _Red Bull_. Needless to say, it didn’t do him well. His head felt heavy on his shoulders, and he struggled to keep it upright. The same fuzziness he felt when exiting _Joker’s_ occupied his mind, and it frustrated him greatly. _Stay awake, damn it!_

He remembered asking his boss to have the night off, claiming “family issues” as his reason why. Boss, being the non-confrontational type, awkwardly agreed. Butch smirked to himself – he was so smart to have done that. Nobody liked to poke around “family issues.”

Speaking of issues in general, he thought of Butts and her reasoning to have just stomped off like that. Despite trying to keep his thoughts away from her with his motto of “que sera, será”, he just couldn’t stop. He must have been hallucinating when he heard her voice.

“Are you serious? They still haven’t stopped trying? It’s been like, a month or so!” It said, unnerving him with how realistic it sounded. As if it had been close.

He didn’t care! He had a fucking ghost to deal with!

Shaking it off, Butch checked his phone. Three minutes ‘til midnight. The lock and handle of the door began to turn. This was his cue.

The door opened.

“GET OUT OF MY STUDIO, YOU WISPY MOTHERFUCKER,” he yelled, swinging his pan, only to be met with a screech.

“BUTCH, WHAT THE FUCK!”

Wait. He knew that voice.

“…Butts?” He whispered, lowering his weapon of choice.

This episode of _Buzzfeed Unsolved_ he’d been having up until now turned into an episode of _Scooby Doo,_ apparently. As his eyes roamed her very real, very angry figure, Butch lost all coherent thought. Whatever was happening now, made no sense to him.

It was Butts, indeed. Her distressed green eyes and messy bob cut gave her away. The quizzical furrow of her brow and the way her arms rose defensively told him she’d been caught red-handed. And her scent, powerful and masculine, caught him off-guard. He knew it from…

Finally catching her breath, she put one of the hands to her ear, revealing a phone in it. “I’ll have to call you back, Mitch.”

Once she put the phone in the pocket of her jeans, she stared him down. Butch didn’t back down, crossing his arms.

“What are you doing here with a damn pan?” she asked.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he countered.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

Buttercup seethed with exasperation, hands forming pulsating fists. She had no time for this. And if she couldn’t do what she’d been here to do, then she would _leave._

“Fuck off,” she said while she turned and dashed down the hall.

 _Oh, no the hell you don’t. Not again._ Butch dropped the pan and raced after her, grabbing her shoulder. She wrestled out of his hold, speeding for the elevator. Its doors opened and Buttercup rushed in, but wasn’t quick enough to close the doors, and he hustled right past her. Before she could get out and take the stairs, Butch pressed the button to the ground floor. The doors closed. They were stuck.

Buttercup pushed him away, her head hitting the back wall of the elevator with a hollow _thud_. The small space didn’t allow for her to put much distance between them, but for her, anything would do at this point.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Butch shouted, without much regard for the fact that it was night. He hit the walls in an attempt to swing his hands.

“My problem is you!” She yelled.

“What about me?!”

“Your friendly bullshit!” Buttercup spat, and then added lowly, in bitter anger, “I don’t need any more men in my life.”

For a moment, Butch dropped his guard, letting his arms fall to his sides. His snake-bites scraped against his teeth as he shut his lips tightly. He took a step forward, eyelids drooping sympathetically. His hand lifted towards her. “Buttercup, I-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” She screamed, recoiling into a corner like a scared animal. Her tone balanced on a tight line between angry and hurt.

Her eyes, distorted by the shadows cast by her bangs, looked bewildered and fearful, glancing anywhere but at him. Butch took the time to notice her fingers, twitching the same way they did back at _The Black Cat._ He couldn’t understand…

Stopping his hand mid-reach and pulling it back, he sighed gravely, “What were you doing?”

She was looking at the ground. The only things he could hear were the mechanical works of the elevator, his own rushed breathing, and the grinding of her teeth. Not a word.

His arms crossed once more. “Are you angry at me?”

A long silence, and then, she slowly shook her head.

He choked out, “Why are you angry?”

The bell of the elevator rang before he could get a reply. He could see her shudder at the question, and wondered if _she_ even knew the answer. When the doors opened with a whir, Buttercup exited, elbowing his arm to push past him. Butch didn’t bother trying to stop her this time.

He watched her run away as he pressed the button back to the studio’s floor, remembering they’d left it unlocked and opened. The arm she elbowed hurt – he guessed it would bruise. Not that he cared about it now.

His thoughts were flooded with the glitter of a teardrop he saw on her cheek as she pushed him out of her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	21. Brutal Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick, Blossom, and Buttercup have coffee, while Bubbles and Boomer prepare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one had me crying halfway through ngl
> 
> tw: this chapter has mentions of attempted rape

The whole morning had been silent, aside from the “good morning”s and a conversation about what to eat. Neither Blossom nor Brick knew how to start with the subject, and it was _noon_. Since breakfast, she’d been cuddled up in her bed, reading a book. Buzz joined her for absent-minded pets and the occasional “Who’s a good boy?” Brick was in the living room, chatting with Dan over the laptop.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he did not know who he was more jealous of: Blossom, for coddling his dog and turning him into a big softie, or Buzz, for getting all of her attention. Shaking the thought out of his head, he turned back to the screen.

Since he was inexperienced with such heavy topics, he asked Dan for advice again. The man proved to be a golden source of information, even though Brick would never tell him that. He’d laid down some harsh truths Brick had a hard time accepting when it came to these delicate subjects.

_Both of you need to face this head-on. If you appear as scared as I’m sure you are, you risk scaring her even more._

Brick released a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt, and typed out a reply.

_i’m not scared. i have nothing to be scared of. i just want her to walk again._

He could almost hear the laugh his pseudo-mentor would make as the three little dots appeared on the screen by Dan’s name.

_I know. What I’m saying is, truly, there’s no beating around the bush about things like this. If she won’t talk about it, you have to start. Be open about it; don’t give your opinion unless she asks and until she’s given hers. It’s hard, but it’s better than dragging it on until it’s too late._

His throat tightened, knowing what Dan was referencing. Brick groaned while his fingers worked over the keyboard.

_okay, so what do you suggest? how do i start?_

The response came quicker than he’d expected.

_Take her somewhere where she’s comfortable, or just go out for coffee. Ask her about her own opinions first, what she thinks is the best option for her. Make sure she feels safe and trusts you enough to talk it out without fear of judgment._

Brick’s lips twisted with discomfort. He knew he’d say that.

_yeah, i kinda figured._

_?_

_So why’d you ask me, then?_

_idk, it just seems like the right thing when you say it._

_and… maybe i needed some reassurance._

Dan sent him the biggest emoji with the most shocked face on.

_THE Brick Aiden Jojo needs reassurance? Is the sky falling?_

_fuck right off._

_Nah, I’m joking. But I am surprised. What makes you so nervous about this?_

_idk, her doctor was kinda bitchy?_

_i’m not sure._

_i just have this feeling she might not even want to try._

His eyes turned in the direction of the hall, before continuing his reply.

_and like… there’s still so much i don’t know about her, so i hope i’m not right, but still…_

A few seconds passed while Dan wrote back, and Brick got up to grab a glass of water. When he returned, a reply was waiting for him.

_Well, to put it in the lyrics of Joseph’s favorite band,_

_“How will you know if you never try?”_

Perhaps, that was just what he needed to hear. Brick looked back at the hall, this time with a determined smile, and wrote back.

_thanks, dan._

“Icy?” he yelled.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go get coffee?”

* * *

Boomer sat at his computer, restlessly replying to RSVPs for Bubbles’s fashion show. The number of e-mails alarmed him. There were so many people, he was sure his fingers would shorten into nubs by the time he was done.

The show’s date was approaching, and so was his anxiety about the after-party they’d planned for their close family. That’s when they wanted to announce Bubbles’s pregnancy, and as happy he was about that, he didn’t know how his brothers would react. And while he was worried through the roof, Bubbles was practically floating with excitement.

His eyes had grown tired from staring at the bright screen for so long. Deciding to check up on his girlfriend, he rose from the seat in his mini-office with a grunt.

Bubbles had been at work since she’d gotten up, tirelessly sewing together a personal project of hers in her sewing room. Every so often, she’d come out of her inspired little nook, make herself an iced coffee, give him a quick kiss, and then return to her passionate work. This had gone on for the past two days. He was not allowed inside until the clothes were finished, but Boomer had, quite honestly, begun to miss her a little bit.

“Knock-knock!” He jokingly announced himself at her door.

“Who is it?” She humored him with a giggle.

“Dad.”

“Dad who?”

He slowly swung open the door. “Dad, me.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t push him out. Her sewing room was what she’d proudly dubbed “a creative mess.” Fabrics that were once arranged neatly on a shelf to the far right were now haphazardly strewn across the room. One would have to watch their step not trip over a bowl of pins or a strip of lace. Even her table was covered with various needles. The only thing standing with stability atop that table was her sewing machine.

Upon entering, he laughed at the way Bubbles’s shoulders slouched. “No fair! That’s my joke.”

“Not anymore!” He spread his arms wide for a hug. “Now it’s a _dad joke._ ”

Her laugh was muffled by his shirt as she squeezed him tight.

“You came just at the right time,” she said, pulling away and taking his hand to lead him inside. “I’m done with the last one.”

Bubbles led him to the mannequin by the window, and his jaw dropped.

The dress had a long skirt that flared out with a slit down the middle, revealing the puffy layers of icy-blue tulle underneath. It was sleeveless, but a strip of lace the same color as the tulle ran around the shoulders. As far as Boomer knew, she’d never made a black dress before, so this must have been quite the challenge for her. And with a pop of color as strong as this blue, Bubbles faced it well.

“It’s gorgeous, baby,” he murmured, pulling her in for another hug.

“You really think so?” she asked. “I made it for myself, for the show.”

Boomer pulled away to press their foreheads together. “Well, if it’s gorgeous now, I can’t even imagine what it would be like on you.”

“Why, you little,” she grinned and stole a kiss, before moving to a pile of clothes on the table. “I made two more, for Butters and Bloss.”

He crossed his arms with curiosity while she shuffled the pile around. She let out an excited “a-HA” when she found what she’d been looking for. His lips curled into a smile at the pride with which she held the two dresses out.

One of them had a green high-waisted skirt that reached the ankles. Its black top looked like a corset, with a sharp sweetheart cut that exposed a decent décolleté. The skirt’s material seemed light and glowed like satin, with high contrast. Even though the sewing pattern would seem simple, Bubbles managed to make it chic and unique, reminiscent of retro prom dresses.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the second one was made out of a single strip of material. Although the top looked like it was wrap-around, it was actually a very deep V-cut that he guessed would reach the navel. The two straps of black fabric tied neatly behind the neck, leaving it backless. The flowing, floor-length skirt had an ombre effect, seeping from black to a vibrant pink from the waist down.

“What do you think?” Bubbles asked after she was sure he’d studied them well.

He placed his thumb under his chin and hummed, seriously in thought. “They’re also pretty…”

Her head tilted to the side, sensing a “but” in his statement. “But…?”

“But are you sure Blossom would appreciate a cut that deep?” He asked with a chuckle, moving his hand to feel the material of the dress.

Bubbles smiled awkwardly. “What’s not to appreciate? It suits her figure!”

Letting it go, Boomer shrugged. “You’re right, it does, but she doesn’t often wear clothes that are so…”

Knowing that the word he was looking for was “revealing,” she looked at the dress as if it disappointed her somehow. “Maybe you’re right…”

He didn’t like that expression on her much, but Boomer knew that what he’d said held some truth to it.

As if she brushed it off, Bubbles put the dresses back on the table with a forced smile. “Oh well, I’ll still give it to her. It’s not _indecently_ revealing, so maybe she’ll like it anyway.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he said.

“Could you go over to their places tomorrow and deliver them for me?” she asked with the best pleading puppy-dog eyes she could muster, even though she didn’t even need to use them on Boomer.

“Sure thing!”

* * *

“Alright, I’m out for lunch,” she yelled to her manager across the kitchen, and received an equally loud “okay” in response with a sigh.

Her day job was exhausting – Buttercup wasn’t the type for customer service, but hey, it paid the bills. The coffee-brown uniform (or, how she’d rather describe it, _bullshit-_ brown) didn’t suit her at all. She hated pencil skirts with a passion, but at least the apron was nice.

Just as she stepped out for her lunch break at _Lava Java_ , her sister came through the sliding doors, pushed by a tall redhead and accompanied by an enormous dog. Buttercup’s eyebrows rose before she called her over.

“Blossom!”

Her sister’s hair whipped when she turned to look at her. The tall redhead behind her gave Blossom a confused look, to which she said something with a smile. He then pushed her towards Buttercup, and they met in the middle by a table.

“Hey, Buttercup!” she said, giving her a wide grin.

“Yo. Who’s this?” she said, holding her lunch bag at her side.

Blossom gestured to her companion. “Oh, right. Buttercup, this is my caregiver, Brick Jojo, and his dog, Buzz. Brick,” she showed off the uniformed girl, “This is my sister, Buttercup.”

He extended a hand to shake. Buttercup smiled, looking him in the eyes, and then something dawned on her. “Wait, are you…?”

Brick raised a quizzical eyebrow, before realizing what she’d meant. The smile on his face twisted into a lopsided snarl that showed off one of his canines, and her eyes turned wide and star-struck. His smile returned at the reaction.

“Blossom,” Buttercup near-yelled with surprise, “your caregiver is the Bludgeoner!”

Brick scratched the back of his neck, shushing her, while Blossom only looked on, mystified. “Please, don’t be so loud, I don’t wanna be recognized now.”

The girl’s shoulders shot up clumsily. “Right! Sorry. I’m a fan, is all.”

“Well, nice to meet you,” Brick smiled.

Buttercup crouched to pet the dog. “And nice to meet you, too,” she cooed at Buzz.

“Is your shift over? Maybe you could join us?” Blossom suggested, earning herself an unprepared look from Brick.

She stretched back up. “Actually, I’m on lunch break. Thirty mins, I don’t think there’s much time…”

“No, no! It’s no problem! Join us, even for a little while.” She insisted, the expression on Brick’s face growing dissatisfied.

Even though Buttercup had noticed it, she felt the need to say yes. So, she did, and she led them to a secluded table in the corner, for more privacy.

After they set up their sitting arrangement and placed their orders, the trio plus Buzz fell into an odd silence. Buttercup had a subject she wanted to bring up, but felt uncomfortable mentioning it with Brick there. Instead, she unraveled her sandwich, apologizing profusely about eating in front of them like that. She didn’t know it, but Brick had questions for both her and Blossom, but couldn’t say anything to one with the other close. Everyone’s eyes flickered around, until Blossom decided to start.

“You know, Brick, I think BC’s partner for a music contest might be your brother.”

Buttercup struggled not to choke on her sandwich, hoping with all her might that she was wrong. He bit his lips together. _Fuck, she was right._

Right then, the same waiter from before arrived with their coffee. She had to remind herself to stay casual, even though the previously cold silence was suddenly pregnant. _Did Butch tell him…?_

“Really?” Brick asked, bringing his cup to his lips.

Blossom was oblivious to the air between her sister and her caregiver. “Yeah! What was his name, BC? Was it Butch?”

“Yes,” Buttercup coughed, “Butch.”

“Yeah, Butch Jojo is my brother.”

They turned quiet again.

Despite his initial idea, Brick felt unwelcome talking to either of them right now. Guessing that Blossom would prioritize a conversation with her sister, he gulped the searing hot coffee in one go. He would have to talk to Blossom about it later. On-the-spot lying had to work again.

“Hey, I just remembered, we’re out of dog food,” Brick said, standing up from his chair. “Can Buzz stay with you two while I go to the pet shop real quick?”

Buttercup held back from a sigh of relief, although something in her tore at the notion that he might know. “No problem with me.”

Taking a skeptical sip of her coffee, Blossom shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead, we’ll be here.”

After she was sure he’d shuffled away and out the door, a weight lifted off of Buttercup’s shoulders, and it showed.

“Something wrong, BC?” Blossom asked.

Buttercup stared at her hands, wrapped around the foil of her lunch. “Well… kind of.”

Blossom’s eyebrows hid under her bangs. “What? Is it something about Brick?”

“No, no, it’s…” she wiped a hand across her mouth nervously.

She couldn’t hide it. The past few days had taken a toll on her, and last night was when shit hit the fan. The feelings threatened to spill over any moment, and Buttercup figured, better to talk about it with someone who knew her than taking it out on anyone else.

“It’s Butch.”

“Hm?” She gave her space to elaborate while stroking Buzz’s fur. The dog had his eyes stuck on the black-haired sister, tilting his head sideways.

“We kind of had a fight.” Buttercup took a sip of her _Sprite_.

“About music or…?”

“No, we… We went to some café, and Ace was there, too, and…” Her voice trembled at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. “A-and I went to the bathroom and he tried… again… and…”

Blossom’s eyes widened with worry. “And…?”

“… and Butch punched him.”

Worry turned to confusion as Blossom took another sip of coffee. “And you two fought because he punched Ace?”

Buttercup’s eyes never left her _Sprite_ , following the bubbles floating to the surface. “No! I mean… I don’t even know. Point is, I ditched him. Haven’t seen him in like, a week, and I’ve been sneaking into the studio at night to work on my part of the album. But he figured me out last night, and now I can’t fuckin’ face him again.”

Blossom knew better than to scold her sister for foul language when she was like this. Sympathy crossed her face, but she still didn’t follow. “Are you mad at him for punching Ace?”

She gasped when Buttercup looked up at her, eyes watery with a mixture of regret and rage.

“No! I’m not mad at him at all, I’m…” she covered a hiccup with a cough, “I’m fucking mad at myself, Blossom!”

Her voice was loud and shivery, but thankfully not loud enough to catch the attention of other patrons.

“Butch punched him while I just _stood there_ like a deer in the fuckin’ headlights! Like I’m some goddamn damsel in distress! I should’ve punched Ace but he cornered me and I… I thought…” she trailed, grinding her teeth to stop any tears from falling. “I thought I was stronger than that.”

Buttercup hated the little sniffle she produced. She held onto her sandwich with a vice grip, as if it would keep her from spilling. The last sentence came broken and scratchy, so she took a sip of _Sprite_ to calm her breathing. She was on the verge of crying. She hated the goddamn sob stuck in her throat with every inch of her being. And still, she couldn’t let it go.

Blossom didn’t want to watch her fall apart like this, but didn’t know how to help, either. Her sister almost never asked for advice, and this didn’t sound like her asking for it. Not that Blossom knew what she could say if she was.

She could never understand BC’s situation, even though she and Bubbles had helped her through it. It was a lot to unravel, and it took that much for Buttercup to break like this. All Blossom could offer was a touch of the shoulder and a reassuring whisper.

“I think you’re very strong.”

A pair of lime-green eyes flickered up at her. There was an unsure choke of a laugh, and a croaked-out, “Thank you.”

Pulling away her hand, Blossom put on a small, proud smile. “What are you going to do?”

Buttercup wiped her eyes. God, she hated talking about feelings. “Don’t know yet. I need to figure it out before the end of April, though.” She took a bite of her sandwich and added through a mouthful, “We’ll see.”

Blossom sipped her coffee. “We’ll see.”

The waitress glanced at the clock. Half of her lunch break was spent. She still had enough time to ask her sister, “…What about you?”

Blossom’s cup clinked as she put it down on the table. “Hm?”

“You said you’ll go to PT after you got a caregiver. Are you going to?”

Buttercup disliked the amount of time Blossom took to think about her answer. Her hand was stuck in Buzz’s fur, the dog looking up at her as expectantly as her sister.

“I’m… not sure about that,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

Blossom sighed. “It’s complicated. Brick and I went to the clinic yesterday. The doctor said my chances of recovering are slim, and the only option now could be to try hydrotherapy, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it.”

“Do what?” Buttercup drank her _Sprite_. “Walk again?”

Her sister’s jaw set. “Yeah.”

Now it was Buttercup’s turn to sigh. She gave Blossom a cautious look.

“At least try.” She tapped the table. “Not for me, not for Bubs, not for dad or mom… But for yourself.”

The last sentence drew a gasp out of Blossom. Before she could say something to the tune of “but I did,” Buttercup spoke again.

“Don’t say you did this for yourself. Blossom, I know you told us you’ll go to therapy to get us to stop worrying. You always do that.” She thoughtfully paused here, taking in Blossom’s shocked face. “And you always take the blame for everything. You need to realize, none of this is your fault. You are the way you are now, because Dexter made a mistake. He threw you the wrong way. Blame him, let it go, let _him_ go, and move on. Not because I want you to or because the others want you to, but because you’re tearing yourself apart because of an unworthy ass-”

“ _That’s enough_ , Buttercup.” Blossom bit back harsher words, finding her eyes were in a similar state her sister’s were minutes ago.

Buttercup’s shoulders slouched, knowing that tone meant she’d gone too far. The redhead continued with sharpness in her tone, although her sad eyes gave her away.

“Dexter did what he did. I accept my life the way it is now. I’ll try hydrotherapy, even though I doubt it’ll help me at all.” She took the last sip of her coffee.

Wringing her fingers, Buttercup looked at the table, holding back a flurry of words about Dexter that were unpleasant at the very least. If she’d known Blossom would be questioning herself this much, she would have hit him harder. All that kept her from spilling such disparagement was her imagination and thoughts of hitting him again. The fucker deserved so much more.

Despite their original coldness, Buttercup couldn’t have been happier to see Brick. The end of her break was nearing, but she didn’t trust it to come before they left. She looked at Blossom with encouragement, which only confused the red-haired sister. At least she’d gotten her to try.

“Thank you,” she said, placing her hand over Blossom’s.

That was when she understood, and smiled in return.

“I’m back,” Brick said, carrying a huge bag of crunchy dog food. Upon seeing it, Buzz’s tail wagged with excitement.

Blossom looked at him over her shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “But I wanted to ask Buttercup something in private, if that’s okay.”

Both Buttercup and Blossom’s eyes widened in surprise, and Brick resisted a laugh at their similarity. They exchanged a glance, and then Blossom agreed with a hum.

As they stepped away from Blossom and Buzz, Buttercup felt some weird mixture of anxiety and comfort spike in her. If it weren’t for her talk with Blossom, she was sure there would be some remnant of amazement at the fact she was talking to _the_ Bludgeoner himself. She hoped what he had to ask didn’t have anything with her and his brother.

When they weren’t within earshot, Brick crossed his arms and she immediately knew she was screwed. It _must_ have been about Butch.

He sighed. “Do you know what happened to all the footage of Blossom’s fall?”

She raised her eyebrows. _Maybe that’s just how he started._ Pursing her lips, she willed herself to appear unbothered. “Why do you need to know?”

His arms fell against his sides with mild annoyance. “Look, I’m trying to get her to open up, but there are some things she just won’t tell me about, and we don’t have time. I’m not sure if she even fuckin’ remembers the fall, but I need to know how it happened so I can help her.”

One of her eyebrows dropped. How curious of someone like him. It intrigued her. “Help her with what?” she asked, feigning casualness to get more out of him.

Determination sparked in his eyes, and his red stare didn’t waver from her eyes. “Help her walk again.”

A beat passed between them, in which she found that he was being honest. Nothing about him gave off any insincerity, and Buttercup didn’t know what to make of that. She had to cling to some truthfulness. He was her sister’s caregiver, after all. If Blossom could trust him, so could she. And they shared a goal, too! But still…

She sighed. “How much can I trust you not to tell her?”

At her question, his shoulders flinched. A secret kept from Blossom by her own sister? One that he had to be in on to know what really happened?

He glanced at her over Buttercup’s shoulder, and in that moment, she knew all she had to know. She waited for his reply with a half-smirk.

“Completely,” Brick finally said.

It was her turn to cross her arms and look at the ground.

“I have a friend who is a hacker. After the accident, I was afraid she would be angry at herself for falling. I’ll take a guess and say that you already know, Blossom isn’t good with letting others take the blame. She thinks she’s always responsible for everything.”

He concealed a chuckle. Oh, did he know.

“That’s why I asked the friend to monitor news, tabloids, and social media for any videos or pictures, and take them down.” Her eyes met his. “That way, we kept her from feeling guilty about it.”

Brick’s eyebrows furrowed at this. “That’s… both genius and stupid.”

She took a step back. “Why is it stupid?”

“Because of two things.” He pointed a finger up for emphasis. “One – while you kept her protected from it, the media will think her agency had something to do with the removals, and shame her for it.”

Buttercup scoffed. “Neither of us cares about the media. I’d rather have a happy sister than good headlines.”

“Maybe, but there’s also two –” he put his hands together, “– what if she doesn’t know what you’re protecting her from?”

Her head tilted to the side. “What do you mean by that?”

“If she doesn’t see the video, then she won’t know who’s really to blame,” he lowered his tone and stepped closer, “and I think we both know that it’s not her.”

She tugged on the edges of the uniform’s apron. He had a point.

“How do you know Dexter threw her the wrong way?”

Brick shrugged, pulling away, “It’s just a hunch, but judging by your reaction, I’d say I’m right.”

 _Damn, he isn’t dumb._ Her jaw clenched.

“Give me your number. I’ll send you a copy of the video I have, under one condition.”

“Spill.”

She liked the lack of apprehension in his reply. He cared more than he let on.

“Be careful when talking to her about it, especially when it comes to Dexter.”

He didn’t miss the way she spat out the name. “Why?”

Buttercup bit her cheek. “They dated for three months, knew each other for a year. The only time I’ve ever seen her sadder than now is in those three months. The fucker is manipulative and controlling, but since it was her first relationship, I think she didn’t see anything wrong with that. Just… be careful when talking about him with her.”

Brick nodded understandingly and held out his hand. “Deal.”

She stared at it as if it had thirteen fingers. “That’s… all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he said.

“You’re not going to ask about your brother…?”

Shaking his head, he used the other hand to fix his cap. “I know you ditched him for the past few days, but I don’t meddle in business that’s anyone’s but mine.”

The fact that he knew didn’t seem so horrible right now. Uncertainty kept her from adding “and my sister’s” to that statement. If his face was anything to go by, she guessed he was being honest now, too. Buttercup smiled and shook his hand, thinking they would get along well as two brutally honest people.

“Thank you.”

They exchanged numbers, and Buttercup went back to work. The pair plus Buzz went back to the car parked by the mall.

“What did you two talk about?” Blossom asked.

“Oh, nothing important. I asked her if she’ll be watching the Stanley Cup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj
> 
> A/N: the song Dan mentions is "Hannah" by COIN  
> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3dU9iFfUJM) - Joseph has good taste in music xD


	22. Decisions And Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blossom and Brick have a talk, and Buttercup self-reflects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long one because there are so many ~feelings~ and wowie i can't believe i broke 50k words with this, considering it's my first fic and all
> 
> thanks for the overwhelming amount of support <3

Brick’s grasp on the steering wheel was more lenient on the ride home than on the ride to the mall. Although the silence lingered, it was not as uncomfortable as it had been. There was an air of expectancy to them – he was eager to get home and see the video, and he quickly eyed Blossom, only to find her looking… winded up? He didn’t know why, but her distant stare out the window disturbed him. His mouth went dry, failing to find the courage to bring up what he’d been waiting to talk to her about all day.

“Brick.”

Her voice startled him from his train of thought.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I should try what Dr. Fox suggested?”

Unable to turn and look at her face, he couldn’t tell whether the question was serious or not. All he could go by was the sternness in it. At least she was the one to breach the subject.

Why wouldn’t he? In fact, why wouldn’t she try? He recalled his private conversation with Buttercup mere minutes ago, and realized that while he couldn’t see a single reason not to try, Blossom could probably see hundreds. That slightly terrified him, and the weight of her question was crushing him.

_Breathe. Think of what Dan told you._

“Well, what do you think?” He threw the question back at her with what he hoped was a soothing, calm voice.

She got quiet again. Out of the corner of his eye, Brick could see her picking at the skin of her palms, where her healed blisters left dry patches. Perhaps, she was picking at old wounds now, too.

“I think I want to try,” Blossom said, and then swallowed thickly. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched awkwardly. “And why aren’t you sure?”

He picked up on the way she messed with her hands whenever she was nervous. First she’d been picking their skin, and now she ran them through her hair meticulously. Finding it funny that he could notice something so irrelevant but couldn’t figure out much more important things about Blossom, he sighed to fill the silence that she used to think.

“I just feel like, even if I _did_ recover, I wouldn’t be able to do all the things I used to do the same way.” Her hands stopped their ministrations. “Like skating, or dancing, or…”

Another twitch of the mouth, followed by a narrowing of the eyes. What was he supposed to say to that? Did he even have the right to say anything?

“What do you think?” she asked again.

Brick’s knuckles went white around the steering wheel as his jaw started to hurt from relentless clenching. He used the same calm voice from before, reminding himself to _breathe._

“Can we talk about this when we’re back at the apartment?”

Blossom nodded.

“Of course,” she giggled humorlessly. “Sorry, I kind of put you on the spot there, huh.”

 _God,_ what was she apologizing for? He spared her a quick glance before returning his gaze towards the road. There was a sympathetic smile on her face, as if she was apologizing for something blatantly offensive. And god, did he hate that expression on her. Brick wished he would never have to see it on her again, but knew that the following hour or so would etch it into his memory. His gut told him so.

Buzz barked from seat in the back, looking out the window when they finally arrived. Leaving Blossom in the front seat, Brick got up to bring out the wheelchair.

When he picked her up to place her in it, her hands clutched at the neck of his shirt for a brief moment, and Brick took it as confirmation of what he’d assumed before. He’d never admit it, but Dan was right – he was scared of this conversation. The only thing he feared more was her being scared of it as well, and now he knew she was. _Hell._

Taking Buzz’s leash and leading them into the building, Brick tried to clear his head. This was the one conversation he’d never had with Joseph or Dan. It was bound to be messy, given his temper and Blossom’s lack thereof, but he’d take it.

His breathing threatened to turn ragged when they were in the elevator. This would all have been easier with the video to confirm his suspicions. From Blossom’s general demeanor and the story she’d given him, he could tell something didn’t add up. With the way Buttercup explained her and her ex-partner’s relationship, he’d also be willing to bet he had more to do with this than Blossom let on.

As they entered the apartment, he was tempted to ask if she wanted some tea or coffee or literally _anything_ , to take the time to make it and stall a little while. But Brick knew better than to do that. If he did, he would probably chicken out of the conversation and turn tail. Or worse, he’d turn it into a fight.

Placing her so she could sit on the couch comfortably, he opted to sit on one of the two living chairs. Buzz sniffed around, before settling on his usual spot by the couch. The sky outside the window began to change colors, clouds making the shadows softer, warmer. It was going to rain.

His elbows were propped up on his knees while he leaned forward. Suddenly, the fluffy carpet seemed awfully interesting, his eyes downcast. _No. Be direct._

The least amount of directness he could offer was to look her in the eye. Blossom hugged a throw pillow to her chest for comfort, her pink gaze playing the same game of avoiding his.

A pained, strained sigh. “Listen.”

She instantly perked up, facing him again.

“What I think… doesn’t matter, because the decision only affects you.” He gulped and inhaled. “But, if you’re having trouble with deciding, I can help you with that.”

There it was, that same apologetic smile from before. It was infuriating, but Brick could do nothing about it.

“How?” she asked.

He coughed. “Well, imagine it this way: you have two lists – one for why you should, and one for why you shouldn’t. On the list why you should, you write what you could do if you recovered, and on the why you shouldn’t, you write what life would be like if you didn’t recover.”

She shifted her head to rest her chin on the pillow, mulling over his idea quietly. Buzz’s ears stood on attention, waiting. Her eyes shifted from her legs to the floor several times, until she spoke.

“But what if I try going to therapy and it doesn’t work out?” Blossom said, voice so quietly scratchy he’d barely picked it up.

His only coherent thought was _Then at least you can say you tried,_ but he figured it sounded too harsh. Brick resisted his impulsiveness and massaged his knuckles.

“Do you think it would be any different than what would happen if you didn’t try at all?” He pointed out.

A moment later, she nodded, face contorting into a frown. “Wouldn’t that just get my hopes up for nothing?”

Biting his lip, he kept himself from scoffing in mild annoyance. Technically, she was right, but he _wanted_ her to try so badly, he would overlook that reasoning.

“That’s a possibility for anything in life.” He shot down her statement with a serious look in his eye. “You could try anything and fail, but at least you would have tried at all.”

A bitter chuckle escaped her, weary eyes cast to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

“So?” Brick shrugged to encourage her. “How about we make those lists?”

His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles when she nodded in agreement.

“Good. Which one do we start with?” He asked.

“’Should’,” Blossom replied simply and rested her head in her hands.

“Okay. So, what would you be able to do?”

She hummed. “Well… I guess travel would be easier? Without a wheelchair and all.”

He counted that off on his fingers. “Good, what else?”

“And I could get into dancing again?”

He continued. “Of course.”

“And… getting in and out of bed wouldn’t be so hard?”

“Mhm.”

“And changing!”

Brick breathed a silly chuckle. “Yes.”

Blossom laughed with him. “And taking care of myself, just in general.”

He nodded. As she continued down the list, he came to realize that such mundane things get taken for granted. There was nothing to admire about it, but there was nothing to pity about it, either. People just lived. Joseph lived like this. Blossom lived like this.

By now, seven of his fingers had been counted off, but none of them represented what he truly wanted to hear from her. When she said the eighth, Brick asked, “And you could skate again, too.”

The strangest shiver ran through her, and Blossom’s shoulders tensed. He offered her a questioning stare as he raised that finger.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll see if I’m even interested in skating by then, heh.”

Whatever joke that was, he didn’t get, but she smiled with her eyes to the floor.

“Why wouldn’t you be, _Ice Queen_?” Brick said, leaning back in his living chair.

He noticed her flinch at the title. What was so flinch-worthy about his question?

“What’s the point of trying it if I won’t be as good as I used to be?” she said, and he paid attention to her fingers digging into the soft pillow.

Brick let out a throaty breath. “What makes you say you won’t be?”

Her knitted eyebrows and squinted eyes showed him just how much it pained her to say, “Because being good doesn’t matter. Being the best does.”

His head cocked to the side and he looked at her as if she’d just grown a second head. He was alarmingly familiar with that attitude, but he didn’t understand what made Blossom think that. Instead of shooting the notion down, he compelled her to elaborate.

“And why wouldn’t you still be the best?” He propped his chin up on his left hand.

Blossom hugged the pillow closer, jaw tightening. She took a shivery breath. “Because I can’t win anything without him.”

“Him?”

“My ex-partner, Dexter.”

When he looked into her eyes, they were glazed over with tears, but not a drop fell. He had to pick his words carefully. That was hard to do, given what Buttercup had told him before. Biting his cheek, he held back a mouthful of his thoughts, in favor of not hurting her.

“What makes you think you need him to be the best?”

She moved her elbows as if to say she didn’t know, but said, “He’s the reason I’m successful. He’s the best at what he does.”

“And you’re the best at what you do.”

She seethed. “ _Was,_ ” Blossom emphasized, “I _was_ the best at what I did, with him. Because of him.”

“Wrong.”

The no-nonsense way he’d said it made her bite her lip. How could he have been so certain?

“Pardon?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not the best because of him, you’re the best because of your own hard work.” Brick crossed his arms.

He hated her sardonic and forlorn grin. Was what he said so hard to believe?

“Okay, okay,” she said with a despondent laugh, “Let’s say I was. Even if I was, what difference does it make? I can’t win anything without him as my partner – he’s the best of the best.”

 _God,_ he was going to lose it. He concealed a growl with a hand running down his face.

“Does it fucking matter?”

Before she could interject with a scold about his language, he raised that same hand to stop her. “No, seriously, Blossom. First of all, is being the best _truly_ all there is to figure skating for you?”

He knew he’d struck a chord by the way her eyes widened. It didn’t stop him from continuing. “And also, think about it – even if you couldn’t skate like you did, is someone who- who _broke up with you_ at a time like this really worth not walking ever again?!”

Buzz barked at him, baring his teeth in a snarl. That question came out in a near-shout, and Brick didn’t have time to stop himself. His mouth stood agape as he looked at her, contemplating if he’d gone too far. Taking an unsteady breath, Brick clenched his hands into fists. He could feel his heart rising to his throat, a sickness pooling in his stomach from the sheer rage he put into his question.

If he were alone, he would have punched something. If Dexter were here, he would have punched him, no amount of enthusiasm spared. His gut told him Blossom’s ex-partner had everything to do with her mindset of “It’s not worth doing if I don’t win.” Even if he didn’t, there was something violently disgusting about leaving her to deal with this alone.

His mind went elsewhere. _The video._ He couldn’t check his phone yet. Promising himself to look at it later, Brick took his concentration back to the situation at hand.

To calm himself, he counted the rapid beats of his heart, staring at the carpet again. _Fuck._

He didn’t dare to steal a glance at her. Brick wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw her in the state she was now.

Hearing her draw in a breath, his shoulders drooped a little.

“I’ll… think about what you said later.” She said with an audible gulp. “For now, I’ll…”

Her voice was lost, and he shot her an expectant look.

“I’ll be going to hydrotherapy.” Blossom smiled.

It wasn’t that cynical smile from before. It was wide and toothy and it was paired with that bell-like giggle. Her nose and eyes scrunched up in its warmth. Brick couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to hug someone so badly. His forearms shook to hold him back, and he coughed, covering his own smile with his hand.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

* * *

Buttercup had been mulling over this for far too long. Not being a people person, and as confidently she told Blossom she’d settle things with him, she couldn’t bring herself to deal with it.

Her shift ended around eight o’clock, and Buttercup spent all her time since then distracting herself from her situation. Playing the classics didn’t seem to do the job. Listening to live concert recordings didn’t work, either. Not even composing took her attention away from Butch.

The downpour outside started around three, and hadn’t stopped since. Sitting on her bed and pointing her gaze out the window, she noticed the sky was void of any stars. The golden lights of the street lamps made the raindrops look like falling stardust.

Looking back on it, she realized she took her anger out on the wrong person, and that bothered her. Buttercup _knew_ she had problems with such things, but it never seemed to stop. Some visceral impulse always overtook her, and she let it out on whoever was around. It didn’t help that this was anger directed at no other than herself.

The only people who ever knew how to deal with her outbursts were her dad, Mitch, and Ace. Her sisters, not so much – they offered her space and the option to talk it out or help with distraction. Buttercup didn’t need those things, she needed an _outlet_.

Talking it out with them, as good as it could be, usually ended with either Blossom or Bubbles giving her unsolicited advice. What they said was right most of the time, and she would have done what they said even without them advising her. It was just that something about people telling her what to do never sat right with her.

Sometimes, all she needed to do was have someone listen to her. Whether she spoke, cried, or stuttered – having someone around gave her leverage to accept her state and move on. Except, not many people were reliable enough. Most would either dismiss her thoughts or ask for something in return. Despite being curled up in bed, Buttercup shuddered at the latter. Ace proved himself to be of that kind.

 _But Butch didn’t do anything._ If anything, he did what she wanted to do. Well, except claiming to be her rebound, but still! He… didn’t deserve to have her just walk out like that. It took her more self-reflection than Buttercup would like to admit to realize that.

Having arrived to the conclusion that she needed to apologize, she was trying to figure out _how._ The idea of facing him made her heart drop. The fact that he put up with her shit up until now was telling tall tales of his patience, but truly, how would he take it? She feared he wouldn’t accept it at all…

A fleeting thought passed through her head, and she shook it out. Of course, this was all about the contest! And-

Her gaze turned to her fender, mounted on its stand in the corner. She sighed. Who was she kidding? This had gone past the “no friendly shit” rule the moment she went to get coffee with him. That rule no longer existed. Butch deserved a proper apology from a _friend._

Except… how?

Buttercup dug her phone out from her blanket and typed out a message to Mitch.

_dude, i got a problem_

Received Tuesday, 11:55 p.m.

_speak up butters_

Read Tuesday, 11:56 p.m.

_ok so_

_i got into a fight w/ my partner for no reason_

_and now i know i’m wrong_

_and i need to say sorry_

Received Tuesday, 11:56 p.m.

Mitch, apparently, took his sweet time with a reply.

_… u are sorry for what_

Read Tuesday, 11:59 p.m.

She rolled her eyes.

_i just fucked up, ok_

_i lashed out at him for something that wasn’t his fault_

Received Wednesday, 12:00 a.m.

_ohhhhhh_

_ok i got it hmm_

Read Wednesday, 12:00 a.m.

Getting up to grab a snack, Buttercup plopped her phone down on the bed. When she returned with a freshly opened bag of chips, she nearly choked from laughing at his response.

_get that bitch a pizza_

_bitchez looove pizza_

Read Wednesday, 12:02 a.m.

_dude stop playing_

_i’m dead serious_

Received Wednesday, 12:02 a.m.

_so am i_

_literally_

_get him a pizza and say sorry_

_boom, instant bffs forever_

Read Wednesday, 12:03 a.m.

For a second there, she even considered it. Mitch was better at this kind of stuff – he knew what he was talking about. Then again, it sounded ridiculous.

So ridiculous that it might actually work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	23. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Boomer and Buttercup make deliveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohh boy... this one was pretty last-minute, and a little OOC but ugh

The next morning, Boomer got up to run their errands. Ever since he’d found out the lovely news, he tried to take as many responsibilities from Bubbles as possible. Thus, he left her to sleep in with a note on the night stand while he went off to bring her sisters their dresses.

Around nine a.m., the morning fog still hadn’t subsided. Last night’s heavy rain must’ve had an effect on that. After putting on his scarf and coat, he ran a hand through his blond curls, fluffier from the humidity. Boomer couldn’t wait for this shitty weather to end, in favor of summer coming round. Warm days were the ones he could have the most fun with his girlfriend.

As he put the car into ignition, he decided he would pay Blossom a visit first. Later, he would go to Buttercup’s, and then to Joseph and Dan’s. This was going to be an eventful day.

* * *

To his surprise, the door to Blossom’s apartment was opened by his brother. His jaw dropped about as wide as Brick’s eyes opened. He stared him up and down, finding it even more shocking that he was in his pajamas. His tangled hair stuck out from under the cap he always wore. Neither said a word.

“Who is it?” Blossom’s voice could be heard from inside the apartment.

The brothers snapped out of whatever trance they’d fallen into.

“Hey, it’s Boomer!” Brick yelled over his shoulder, before turning to whisper-snap at Boomer. “ _What are you doing here?!_ ”

He let out an offended scoff. “What am _I_ doing here? What are _you-_ ”

“Oh! Hey, Boom Boom. Let him in, Hothead,” Blossom interrupted from the living room.

In the midst of his surprise, Boomer managed the most sly, teasing expression he could form at his older brother. “ _Hothead?_ ”

Freezing up with a rising blush, Brick seethed, “Shut your fuck, _Boom Boom_.”

Upon entering, Boomer took off his shoes. “Seriously though, why are you here?”

Just as he said it, a thought ran through his mind that he deemed too inappropriate to voice. It showed, apparently, since Brick rushed to reply.

“I’m her caregiver now.”

Boomer’s mouth formed an “o” as he stepped into the living room, accompanied by his brother.

There, he found Blossom sitting on the couch with a tablet in her hands, Buzz curled up with his head in her lap. When he saw Boomer, the dog lit up, jumping to greet him with puppy kisses.

“Hello, hello!” Boomer laughed, holding the package in his arms out of Buzz’s reach.

“Hi!” Blossom grinned, putting down the tablet and pulling her blanket over herself. “Sorry we’re still in sleepwear, we didn’t really expect any guests today.”

“No, no, it’s no problem!” He assured, waving his hand. “I did kind of barge in unannounced, anyway. But I can’t stay for long.”

“Really?” Brick said, leaning on the armrest of the couch with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, I actually came here with a delivery for Bloss,” he explained, moving closer to her with the neatly wrapped package.

Blossom eyed it curiously, turning it over in her hands and finding it oddly light. As she shuffled the wrapping paper, Boomer raised his hands.

“No, don’t open it yet!” he said, “Bubsy said you should wait and wear it at the show.”

Brick tilted his head to the side. “What show?”

“Bubbles is having a big fashion show in two days. You’re both invited to that, and we’re having a little after-party at _The Blue Collar_ for close family.”

Blossom held the package more carefully now. She remembered having dinners and soirees with important officials there. “ _The Blue Collar?_ Any reason for choosing a fancy venue for close family?”

A smile bloomed on his face and he scratched his neck, trying hard not to ruin the surprise. “Let’s just say, Bubsy and I have a big announcement to make.”

He failed to notice his hosts exchange looks – Blossom seeming far too pleased, while all color drained from Brick’s face.

All he did was point a finger skyward. “Both the show and the after-party are black tie events.” He shot Brick a sharp look. “Better put on your best tux, dude.”

He received a scalding look from Brick that wordlessly said “As if I’d wear anything else.”

“Thank you for the invitation!” Blossom beamed. “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing. Except, I gotta ask, how did all –” Boomer vaguely gestured to the pair plus Buzz, “– _this_ happen?”

He was oblivious to the fidgeting of Brick’s hands as he stared at Blossom. Only his expression made him question if something was wrong, but Boomer brushed it off.

She smiled and shrugged. “Oh, he’s been my caregiver for about a week now. We didn’t get to tell you guys because of…”

Where she trailed, Brick picked up, “Because of her appointments at the clinic. The private clinic she goes to.”

Boomer let out an understanding “oh” as he started slowly for the door. “Well, as much as I’d like to hear more about that, I’ll have to be on my way now. Got two more stops to make before I go back to the love of my life.”

Brick made a noise of disgust at his brother’s swooning, and Blossom laughed. “It was good to see you, Boom Boom. Say hi to Bubbles for me!”

Following Brick to the door, Boomer yelled back an “Of course!”

Once he was gone, Brick pouted at Blossom, who only looked at him with a sly expression.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Of course I am. Pay up, Hothead, your brother proposed!” She excitedly shook her fists.

He rolled his eyes. Just then, he was reminded.

“Icy?” Brick asked.

“Hm?”

“Did he say the show was in two days?”

Blossom cocked her head up at him. “Yes, why?”

He slapped his forehead. “The Stanley Cup is tomorrow!”

* * *

It took Buttercup a while to answer the door. When she finally did, she looked a mess.

Still dressed in what Boomer would guess were her pajamas, her hair stuck out every which way. Her half-dead face was smeared with something red, and Boomer could only hope it wasn’t blood.

Awkwardly smiling in the doorway, he joked, “Well aren’t you up early, BC.”

“Fool,” she snorted, “Bold of you to assume I slept at all.”

Boomer would like to think that was a joke, if it weren’t for her eyebags.

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning on the side of the doorway.

As if startled by the question, he fumbled for the package in his hands. “Oh, um, Bubbles sent you this. It’s for the fashion show in two days – don’t open it up until then! We’re having an after-party at some fancy restaurant, so she designed you and Blossom dresses.”

Buttercup cautiously took the wrapped dress and held it to her chest. “Okay, uh… Thanks.”

“No problem! See ya.” Boomer waved as he turned to go back.

She waited a split-second before something struck her. “Wait! Boomer?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“D’you know where Butch lives?”

He turned again to face her fully, confusion painted across his face. “Butch, my brother? Yeah, he’s in east downtown, by the-”

“Could you please wait and take me to his place?” She hugged the package closer to herself, some strange quiver to her lip. “My car’s battery died last night but I have to go over there.”

For a moment, he stood there, considering it. Her urgent emphasis on “have” made him wonder. _Well, Joseph does live close by,_ Boomer thought, and then nodded.

“Sure, I’ll wait for you outside while you get ready,” he pointed a thumbs-up to the elevator.

She audibly exhaled in relief. “Thank you. Blue _Toyota_ , right?”

“Right.”

Twenty minutes later, she barged out her building’s doors. Freshly changed into a sweater, a pair of high-waisted shorts and with her hair neatly combed, she carried a large flat box to his car.

Boomer pointed it out as she slid into the shotgun seat. “What’s that?”

“Pizza.”

* * *

The drive from west to east downtown was comfortably quiet. Because the two didn’t have that much in common, silence came to them naturally, and neither thought it awkward. As Boomer pulled up to Butch’s apartment complex, he gave her the apartment number.

“9B, on the second floor,” he directed with his usual smile.

“Thank you, Boomer,” Buttercup grinned back. “Say hi to Bubs for me.”

Boomer admired the similarity between the sisters, and waved his goodbye as he drove away.

Taking the deepest of breaths, Buttercup made her way up the stairs of the building. Once she was in the elevator, the night she got caught sneaking into the studio popped into her mind. She resisted her own imagination and the memory of feeling as helpless as before. This was Buttercup, owning up to the mistake she made.

She was only aware of a couple of things. Apartment 9B. Ringing of the doorbell. Seconds passing. A tall figure opening the door. A pair of wide, green eyes staring into her own.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love me a good cliffhanger
> 
> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	24. Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buttercup apologizes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh the _resolved tension_

There were many things Butch Jojo had expected that morning. He expected to receive an e-mail from his landlord about his late-night barrage of his comfort bands. He expected at least one of his neighbors to come knocking at his door about the same thing.

But opening the door to find a very distressed-looking girl with a box wasn’t one of those things.

“Hey,” she said, apologetic eyes staring up at him over a flat box.

The corners of his lips quirked to their sides, pursed tightly. What was he supposed to say?

Opting to cross his arms and lean on his doorway, he surveyed her. Butch’s face was void of any readable emotion, and even though Buttercup hid it, he could tell it frustrated her. He could feel his teeth starting to hurt from clenching, so he ran a hand down his face.

His tongue betrayed him with his undeniable directness.

“What do you want?” Butch said.

Buttercup’s fingers curled around the sides of the box, before flicking it open. Questioningly, he stared at the pizza inside.

A large pepperoni pizza. Not like any he’d seen before – he frequented all of Townsville’s pizza joints well enough to know what each delivery looked like. Did she make it herself…?

He concealed a laugh with a cough at the writing in ketchup. “Sorry I”, followed by a smear that he could only guess she wrote “fucked up”, but crossed it out, followed by “walked out on you.” and one wide frowning face.

Even after the cough, his face remained stoic enough to keep her staring. Butch didn’t have to look up to feel her nervous eyes burning holes into his head, searching for any semblance of a reaction. Biting his piercings to hide a smile, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Come in,” he said, taking the box and catching her off-guard.

She didn’t have time to offer protest of any kind, because he headed in, leaving the door open for her to follow. Didn’t leave her much of a choice.

His apartment was humble and simplistic, like a college student’s. Not exactly pristine, but not filthy, either. A door to her right, she guessed, led to his bedroom, because the door to her left was cracked open enough for her to see a bathroom sink. Going down that small hall, a living room and kitchen came into view. While the kitchen looked small and a bit cramped, the couch and beanbag chair were spread out, with a coffee table doubling as a dining table. A large TV stood mounted between two windows.

Butch could hear the hesitant pattern of her footsteps. The deafening silence beckoned him into thinking, but not before accommodating for his unplanned guest.

“Sit,” he said, noticing her steps come to a halt in the hall.

Buttercup pulled on the sleeves of her sweater as she found her spot on the corner of the couch. Although the space wasn’t either big or small, she felt tiny. She sat stiffly, holding her knees.

“Want a beer?” He called from the fridge.

Her mouth felt dry. Buttercup muttered, “Only if you want.”

She could hear him sigh. Some clacking later, he put a plate and a glass in front of her, on the coffee table. After he’d fetched his own, he put the pizza and two beer bottles there, too, and then sat on the beanbag chair.

His mind ran a mile a minute. So, what was this? Why was she here? An apology was well on its way, one he knew he deserved. Except he knew by now, Buttercup was only good with words when it came to writing lyrics. Now that he was across from her, she wasn’t as brave with her obvious staring, instead looking at the pizza with some lingering spark. What he would do to know what was going on in her head.

A mix of offense and discomfort overcame her when he opened up one bottle and drank straight from it. What did he bring her a glass for? All her fear from up until then left her, replaced by sheer spite. Hoping he didn’t notice her rolling her eyes, Buttercup took a swig of her beer, straight from the bottle, like him.

“Damn,” he laughed through a mouthful of pizza, and it confused her.

“What?”

As if the words he said before weren’t his own, or he remembered he should be mad, Butch shook his head. “Nothing.”

The slice he took had the word “sorry” on it. He made a point of chewing vigorously and keeping the silence. If someone was going to speak first, it wasn’t him.

But it wasn’t Buttercup, either. Her regretful demeanor returned as she took a slice with the big smear of ketchup. Whatever grand speech of apology she’d had up until that point seemed sad and irrelevant to her now. She failed to see his eyes fixated on the movement of her mouth as she chewed.

Despite not knowing what to say, Butch would be damned if he didn’t want to speak up.

“Well,” he said, “care to explain?”

She tried not to choke on her reply, and on her slice of pizza.

“Explain what?” Buttercup asked, unsure of what part he’d meant.

“Why you were angry.”

Something flared up in her chest, and she found the strength to meet his eyes. To her shock, there wasn’t a tinge of anger behind them.

“Does it matter?” She avoided the subject. “I came to apologize for walking out like an asshole.”

Butch exhaled through his nose, picking up his bottle again. “I’m not mad about that, though.”

Her eyebrows reached her hairline. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m mad about…” A lick of the lips. “Something else.”

“What do you mean?”

His hands covered his face. “Look, just tell me why you were angry so we can move on. We can pretend you never walked out and keep working on the album. All professional, no friendly shit.”

Her own phrase coming from his mouth hit her like a punch to the gut.

“But that’s not what I want.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. Buttercup noticed the tiny line that appeared on his forehead.

“No?”

“Of course not!” She grabbed the armrest at her side to keep from abruptly standing up. “I was wrong about that, Butch!”

His jaw dropped. Buttercup continued, trying to avoid the silence threatening to swallow them again.

“I… I wasn’t mad at you. And we shouldn’t have agreed on my stupid rule!” Her nails dug into her knees. “We- no, _I_ was wrong from the start. We could have avoided all this if it weren’t for my own issues and I shouldn’t have just _left_ you like that and I’m _sorry._ ”

Butch picked up on the strain in her voice at her apology. It truly was taking a toll on her. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor, rimmed with unshed tears, and he didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say. Especially because he agreed.

But Butch lived by _“que será, sera”_ , and hell if he wasn’t going to keep living by it.

His teeth messed with his snakebites again. “Okay. So,” he laced his fingers, “Full friendly shit?”

Despite the air she’d created, Buttercup sniffled to hide a laugh. She finally looked up at him again. “Yeah. Full friendly shit.”

“Good,” he grinned, and she felt her shoulders relax. “Friends?” He held out his bottle for her to clink with her own.

She eyed it with some reluctance, holding her own. “Just like that?”

His grin widened. “Why not?”

Whilst Buttercup wanted to believe he’d forgiven her, she didn’t know how to deal with forgiveness coming so easily to him. Some qualms about whether she deserved it with the way she treated him sat unmoving in the pit of her stomach.

His bottle was still held out in front of her, and Butch answered his own question.

“Look, let’s admit it, we both got off on the wrong foot – you for making that rule, and me for punching that dick. What happened, happened. The way I see it, the only way to go from here is just keep going without any rules.” He suggested, moving it around, and she remembered the way he talks with his hands.

When he put it like that, his offer of friendship made sense. Except…

“But I was an asshole to you.”

Her voice was so meek, he leaned back and slapped his knee with laughter.

“Yeah, and?” Butch said as he moved forward again. “You _were_ an asshole and I _was_ a little hurt. But that’s no reason not to get over it and be friends now that we’re not angry anymore, right?”

His optimistic attitude in the midst of this mess she made was uplifting, and it only made her wish he was angrier with her. Then again, she couldn’t tell whether that was really optimism or realism on his end.

His bottle was in front of her again, and her eyes trailed from her hand to his face. There it was, the unrelenting smile she felt she didn’t deserve.

“Besides –” his smile took a turn for the wicked, “– we’ve got a fuckin’ contest to win, don’t we, _Butts?_ ”

Even though a shiver ran through her, she’d never been more glad to be called Butts in her life. She returned the wicked smile as she clinked their bottles.

“Hell yeah.”

He glanced at her with a weird tilt of the head.

“What?”

“Just ‘hell yeah?’” Butch teased with a raised eyebrow, bringing the bottle to his mouth.

And she knew what he meant. Buttercup took another swig.

“Hell yeah, _Bitch._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	25. The Stanley Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick finds the truth behind the fall and realizes many other things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *announcer voice* LET THE PINING BEGIN
> 
> ok but this is another surprisingly long one with a tinge of OOC.  
> sorry for the wait - i was on a short vacation, but i'm back and working full-steam again! :D  
> thank you for your continuous support <3

That morning, while Blossom was typing out an e-mail to Dr. Fox, Brick busied himself with laundry. This week’s bin was overflowing, so he guessed it was about time they got around to it.

While he loaded the washing machine, his phone dropped on the floor out of his pocket, and he remembered the video Buttercup had sent him. It was still in their chat, and he hadn’t watched it. Not because he was too busy or because he didn’t want to, but because every time his finger hovered across the “play” button, some awful feeling would wash over him. It was like a warning mixed with the guilt of keeping a secret from Blossom.

As much as it would hurt her, she would have to see it sooner or later. But not before Brick saw it himself.

A sigh and a sit on the machine later, he pulled up the chat and finally pressed the cursed button.

He followed the movements of the two figure skaters closely from the very beginning, looking for any sign of something going awry. Spins, spirals, steps – all without a single mistake. Had he been watching for anything other than research, Brick would have probably allowed himself to enjoy the graceful show.

The first throw – Brick’s jaw went slack, and he was tempted to shut his eyes. Thankfully, the Blossom in the video landed, and he resisted a sigh of relief. He recognized the move as a triple throw axel, and focused on the rest of the show.

Smooth, flawless toe-loops. Quadruple. Difficult and, he remembered, rare in performance. But the fact that they managed perfect quadruple toe-loop made the fall even more senseless. He figured if one could manage four rotations in a regular toe-loop, then a quadruple throw Salchow wasn’t too far off…

His train of thought was broken off-track with a quiet but blood-curdling scream, and Brick realized he’d missed it. Tapping his screen thrice to reverse it, he made sure to pay close attention now more than ever.

Her partner – _Dexter, was it?_ – picked her up, swung her around himself, and then lifted her off the ice. Nothing unusual, until the actual fall. Or at least, nothing Brick had picked up immediately.

He turned the clip back over and over again, eyes squinting in an attempt to find the fatal flaw. When he’d turned it back the fourth time, he paused and took his head in his hands. A deep memory he’d buried a long time ago called out to him, and he began digging it up. The specifics of the jump, the position of the legs… That’s when it hit him.

He replayed to the part before the lift, and started it up again. The Blossom in the video spun opposite of the direction she’d been thrown – clockwise instead of counter-clockwise – before falling on the ice.

To give his suspicion more ground, he replayed their first throw. _Clockwise_ , Brick thought, _he threw her over his right side._ Another replay of the failed throw.

 _Clockwise._ His eyebrows furrowed upon the realization – _Dexter threw her over his left side, using his left arm._

Brick always recognized that he had two types of anger. One was screaming, punching, thrashing around like a spoiled, reckless kid. As obnoxious as it was, that was all bark, no bite. His teammates knew that type. His parents, brothers and Joseph knew that type.

The other type was silent, seething, and far more _dangerous_ than the first.

And that was exactly was what he felt now.

This conniving motherfucker had the nerve to make Blossom believe she couldn’t do anything without him, and then leave as if nothing happened. As if he _hadn’t done that on purpose._ If he were there, Brick would’ve punched his lights out.

The only problem being that the source of his rage wasn’t available to be used as a punching bag. Brick could only grit his teeth as his nails dug into the edge of the washing machine. He saw red. He could feel his gums beginning to bleed from the pressure of his jaw. He felt a scream building from his lungs.

_He had to tell Blossom._

“Hothead?” The sugary voice called from the living room, and he became aware of how raw his throat had gotten.

And when she called him that, all bravery, all confidence, all his guts left him.

“Yeah?” He said as he exited the bathroom, to find her on the couch.

How could he tell her? All their conversations spoke volumes of how deeply she _loved_ her ex-partner. The fact that she considered not walking at all because of him was telling. Brick’s hands began to shake with the cognizance that it was down to him to break the horrifying news to her.

“Is the laundry done?” Blossom asked with a smile, her chin propped up on her wrist.

And he didn’t know if he was capable of doing it.

He stared at the floor. “Not yet – still needs to be dried.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, closing her laptop as it turned off.

To prevent a vulnerable silence from encompassing them, Brick blurted out, “Wanna go get snacks for the cup?”

It was the first thing that came to mind as a proper distraction.

Her eyes flashed with excitement, only further curling the coil in his stomach. She beamed another smile. “Sure, let’s go.”

It would give him time to think through his predicament.

“But no alcohol!” Blossom piped up.

He looked at her, both offended and amused. “Why not! You gotta have beer with sports – them’s the rules!” Brick teased.

She shook her head, taking it seriously. “Nuh-uh! Coffee, juice, or even energy drinks – but no alcohol!”

“Fiiiiiiine,” he drawled out with a mock-affronted groan.

* * *

“I’m telling you, _Cheetos_ are better than _Doritos!_ ” Brick argued as he plopped down on the couch across from Blossom.

One long and tiring shopping spree later, the pair plus Buzz settled in the living room. They returned much later than expected, having found that they’d also run out of groceries. Each in their own positions, with Buzz resting over Blossom’s lap, they waited through the commercial roll before the first match began.

“ _Literally_ no.” She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “They’re too hot.”

“Ugh,” he threw his head back, “Well, at least we agree that _Cheese Balls_ suck!”

Blossom took a handful from her bowl of _Doritos._ “True, true.”

Just as she’d said that, the commercials stopped in favor of a grand intro, before a cheerful voice spoke over several shots of an overflowing ice arena. Brick stiffened in his seat and shushed her, and she laughed.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the 2020 Stanley Cup playoffs! My name is Matt Tucker and my colleague, Jacob Kurtz, is live on the scene in Citysville Ice Arena for our first game of the cup, The Citysville Crows versus The Townsville Rottweilers!” The screen switched to an over-dramatic depiction of the teams’ logos – a crow with a puck in its beak and a dog with a hockey stick between its teeth. “Jacob, what can you tell us about the match?”

The screen showed a reporter grinning in front of the well-lit rink. “Well, Matt, let me tell you, this one’s gonna be a match to remember! These two teams have a history of rivalry since they were formed, and with their best players absent, it will be a mutual challenge!”

“Their best players are absent?” Matt replied in a fake-surprised tone most announcers used when they already knew something others didn’t.

But Brick truly didn’t know. Blossom noticed by the way his grip on the armrest tightened, with the quietest curse under his breath.

Pictures of a bald, bearded man and Brick pulled up on the screen. Blossom was amused by his smug expression on the photo – he looked about ready to win anything, even with that low ponytail and cap.

“Yes, Matt! This season, the strongest players of both these teams were suspended shortly before the cup! From the Crows’ team, Richard Mason, otherwise known as Dick –” Blossom let out a snort, “– and from the Rottweilers’ team, Brick Jojo, otherwise known as The Bludgeoner, won’t be on the teams for the Stanley Cup!”

Brick knocked her on the shoulder with a smirk. “Dirty mind.”

She lightly punched him back. “Oh come on, how do you _not_ laugh at that?”

“… Yeah, you’re right. It’s the running joke among other teams,” he grinned.

“Why Dick, though?” She struggled not to laugh while asking.

“It’s literally in his name. Plus, the dude hip-checks everyone, so it kinda makes sense,” he shrugged.

Blossom took on a more teasing expression, crossing her arms. “And why The Bludgeoner?”

He picked up on it with a raise of the eyebrow. “You’ll see if you watch my matches after I get back.”

Huffing in mild annoyance, she turned back to the TV. Despite that, the idea of watching his matches seemed somewhat exciting. Not that she’d give him the satisfaction of hearing it from her.

“What a sad coincidence! Perhaps this won’t be as all-out as we expected, huh, Jacob?”

Brick rolled his eyes. “Coincidence, my ass.”

“… What do you mean?”

As the introductions of other players began, they switched their attention to this topic.

“They’re patronizing us.” He grabbed a mouthful of _Cheetos_. “They found out I was suspended and thought that, if the Rotts don’t have me on the team, then it’s an easy win. So easy they can win without Dick.”

Blossom’s eyebrows knitted together. “And are they right?”

In the dim light of the room coming from the TV, she could see the muscles in his collar and jaw tense. However, the expression balanced on a line between enraged and enthusiastic.

“Yeah,” he nodded and pointed, “And it’s all gonna be because of that one, right there.”

“And in center, in his third season, number ninety-nine, Levi Davidson!”

The roar of the crowd made him form fists. If Brick had his way, the fucker would’ve been kicked out of the team ages ago. Not just because of the lack of talent (as subjectively as Brick perceived it), but lack of basic human decency. That punch he gave him the last time he saw him was well-fucking-deserved. The cheers were not.

Noticing his reaction, Blossom frowned and hesitated. She wouldn’t talk about Levi – whatever business the two of them had seemed too personal and stressful for her to ask.

The national anthem started playing, and it got quiet between them.

She sighed. “You got beer in the fridge.”

He gave her a confused glance. “What?”

“I snuck one into the cart when you weren’t looking,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “‘Gotta have beer with sports, them’s the rules’, right?”

His eyes softened as he stood to go to the fridge. “Thanks.”

Blossom couldn’t help but blush at the mildness in his voice. Thank god for the darkness of the room. “Hurry, it’ll start soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brick muttered from the kitchen.

She heard a fizzing sound while he opened the can, and the gurgling of a glass being poured. He came back with two glasses in tow, handing one to her with a smile. Accepting it with a hint of reluctance, she smiled back.

“Cheers,” Brick raised his glass.

“Yeah,” she said, clinking their glasses, “Cheers.”

As the national anthem came to an end, she came up with an idea.

“Wanna place bets?”

He lifted an amused eyebrow at her. “Place bets on what? I already know my team will lose.”

Dragging a hand over Buzz’s fur, she replied, “Bet on the exact scores.”

Brick snorted. “What are you, Marty McFly? You can’t possibly know the exact scores!”

“Try me.” She grinned. “Back when Buttercup was big on hockey, we’d bet on the scores. Losers did whatever the winner wanted as a dare.”

“Pfft, whatever,” he leaned toward the TV with his elbows on his knees, “I already know the Rotts’ score – zero.”

“And the Crows’?”

“Not sure. Anything above four goes at this point.”

Staring at the TV, Blossom crossed her arms like she knew something he didn’t. “The Crows will win, two to one.”

Brick turned to her with disbelief on his face. “No way, that score difference is too small. Levi can’t score for shit!”

“Never said he could.” She took a sip of her beer with the same knowing expression. “Shake on it?”

He laughed. “Never thought you were a betting woman.”

Blossom wiggled the fingers of the hand she’d given him to shake. “So you’re backing down?”

His eyes drifted from the movement of her hand to her smirk. He shook her hand. “Oh it’s _on_ , Icy.”

A pleased grin bloomed on her face as she leaned back with her hands behind her head. The first faceoff was about to begin. “Just so you know, I’ve never lost a bet.”

“Tch, yeah right,” he said, adjusting to accommodate Buzz as the dog climbed over her.

The first few minutes were as clumsy as every match. Brick had studied the moves of the Crows before.

He recognized that their second strongest player was Lance Grummer, a left-wing like himself. He shot most of the scores with Dick, since they were a good combination. So it was no wonder Grummer was on the bench for this match. He knew that the Crows relied on their own tactic, which made them painfully unpredictable now. Without Dick as their ringleader, they were chaotic. It had only been seven minutes, and the referees had already called three penalties.

What bothered Brick was how fake it all seemed. Having gotten used to being _in_ the rink, watching it from the side felt like watching a puppet show. Whatever comment or yell he’d direct from the bench would be useless from behind the screen, so he only showed his criticisms in an occasional groan or grunt. Blossom could tell he was fuming on the inside.

He wouldn’t tell her – hell, he wouldn’t tell it to _himself_ – but Brick was also bitter over her bet. It was vaguely insulting. He was certain, or rather _convinced_ , that those fuckers couldn’t score shit without him.

After ten failed shots (the Rotts, he had to admit, had good goalies), the Crows scored their first point at the end of the first twenty minutes. Checking on her with a mischievous smile, he saw her shoot one back.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. The game isn’t over yet,” Blossom reminded over a gulp of beer.

Brick threw himself back on the cushion, relaxed. “We’ll see, Icy. Three more and I win.”

He didn’t have to look over to know she was rolling her eyes. “Sure, sure…”

The match went on with Brick commenting on the tactics and shots every now and then. It would earn him the quietest chuckles or witty remarks from the girl lying next to him, all while he avoided that morning’s sensitive topic.

Truth be told, the shopping day didn’t help him at all. While it _did_ calm him down from his overbearing anger, he felt it was a distraction even then. Whenever he’d try to build up the confidence and bring it up, the words would die in his throat. He had trouble finding the right ones. If he could compare it to anything, it would be the time he and Boomer had had to tell Butch one of his girlfriends cheated on him, except much worse.

But the longer he beat around the bush, the more he had to remind himself not to slip up. Guilt ate at him, and around the last minutes of the second period, Brick couldn’t take it anymore.

“Icy?”

No response other than soft breathing.

He tilted his head to the side. “Blossom?”

Leaning forward to see better, it became clear what happened. He breathed a relieved laugh through his nose. Blossom was asleep.

A strand of crimson hair had fallen over her cheek, and Brick used a knuckle to brush it away. There was a quiet growl from his left, and he caught Buzz glaring at him from his position as her blanket. As he moved to try and pick her up, the dog’s stare intensified with another low growl. ‘Don’t touch her.’

Brick was squatting by the bed now, contemplating what to do with his wrist under his chin. Her arms were curled up under her head as a pillow. If he tried to move her to her bedroom, Buzz would start barking and wake her up. And Brick didn’t want to do that.

One exasperated sigh later, he was on his feet, making his way to Blossom’s room for a blanket. If he couldn’t pick her up and take her there, he’d let her sleep.

Once he’d brought the blanket, he gently laid it over her form, while Buzz moved slowly to get more comfortable. When he was done, Brick sat back down and continued watching the match.

His eyes widened as he noticed the current score. Both teams had a point. Perhaps one of his teammates had scored while he was fetching the blanket. His jaw dropped in shock. _The fuckers actually did it._

Pushing down the notion that he was disappointed, Brick continued watching the game.

In the end, he figured he’d have to do whatever Blossom dared him in the morning. The final score was two to one for The Citysville Crows.

After turning the TV off, he stretched out of his seat. The girl and the dog on the couch paid him no mind. Rubbing his eyes, Brick realized another issue – where would he sleep?

Another look at the sleeping redhead threw away any idea of taking her back to bed. While the thought of using her bed for the night crossed his mind, his respect of her privacy kept him from going down that path. And although the couch was wide enough for him to nestle beside her, Brick was… suddenly unable to trust himself.

So he did the next most sensible thing – he grabbed a blanket and a pillow, and took the living room floor for the night.

True, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement for him, but Brick figured it was the most rational one. Lying on the fluffy carpet, he contained a laugh at the tiniest snore Blossom produced. It was… cute.

Her arm dangled over the side of the couch, hand hanging freely, and Brick felt oddly compelled to reach up and hold it. But he didn’t.

All he could do was stare at the limp, delicate fingers and think about the damned video. No amount of self-assurance would get him to let the words spill. The pale light from the outside fell over her skin, and Brick _swore_ she was shining like ice.

His eyes narrowed with pained tears. He told himself that she’d have to see it sooner or later, but now he wished she didn’t have to see it at all. Just to let her be happy. To tell her the news was risky, because his gut told him there was a sliver of a chance she’d give up. He couldn’t let Blossom do that.

His fingertips tenuously brushed against hers. As feather-light as the touch was, Brick felt a heavy weight shifting in his chest. Still, it was all the courage he could gather.

“Dexter threw you the wrong way,” he whispered, eyes to the ceiling, voice cracking in the darkness.

That whisper was all he could achieve. Her hand didn’t move. Blossom was out cold. She hadn’t heard him.

Part of him was glad she hadn’t. Part of him was angry at the coward he’d become when it came to her. All of him would deal with this some other day.

Brick would tell her. He’d tell her everything. Just not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	26. Black Tie Event, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buttercup and Butch go suit shopping, and Blossom tries on her dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A soft one to relieve the last one's tension <3  
> alternatively titled Pining Dorks

Since their reconciliation two days ago, Buttercup and Butch combined their efforts. Having met up on Friday to tune some of the songs they’d made alone during their disagreement, they decided to try and make a cover as a bonus track. The issue of which song they’d record went ignored in favor of finishing up the main twelve. They listened back to them and corrected any mistakes with ease now that the discomfort was gone.

Saturday morning, Buttercup was brewing herself some coffee with her favorite comfort band blasting through her headphones. It had been a lazy, hazy April morning, in which her mind was occupied by nothing but melody and rhythm. Not caring to change out of her pajamas, she allowed herself to let loose, dancing in a way that she’d consider dumb if she caught anyone else doing it.

The dress Bubbles had designed for her was splayed out over her couch, waiting for that evening. She’d tried it on last night, and was surprised to find that it had a pair of thin, black knee-length leggings sewn into it below the flaring green skirt. Her sister knew how much BC disliked the feeling of loose fabric around her thighs, and considerately made it more comfortable for her, while still keeping it stylish. The vintage touch of the sharp corset gave her a boost of confidence she hadn’t expected. In fact, no dress had ever made her feel as good as this one. Buttercup would make sure to thank her specially.

As she poured herself the blessed drink, her music was paused by a notification. She rolled her eyes at the interruption, sitting on her counter to read it. It was a message from Butch.

_Butts, i need help_

Read Saturday, 11:26 a.m.

She raised an eyebrow as she took a sip.

_with what_

Received Saturday, 11:27 a.m.

_I gotta buy a suit_

Read Saturday, 11:27 a.m.

_lol why_

Received Saturday, 11:28 a.m.

_For the thing tonite_

Read Saturday, 11:28 a.m.

_no i mean like_

_why do u need my help w/ that_

Received Saturday, 11:28 a.m.

_Idk, guessed u could help me pick 1 out_

Read Saturday, 11:29 a.m.

Buttercup couldn’t help the grin that broke out on her face from the idea. Was picking out a suit really that hard? Was it even important? Hell, a suit was a suit – what was the big deal?

_dude_

_deadass_

_just take any suit_

Received Saturday, 11:30 a.m.

_Fuck no_

_I wanna be smokin hot_

Read Saturday, 11:30 a.m.

She nearly spat out her coffee. Butch was being ridiculous.

Before she could realize what her response sounded like, she’d already pressed ‘send’, and nearly dropped her cup. To make matters worse, the message couldn’t be deleted.

_you’ll be smokin hot in whatever you pick, chill_

Received Saturday, 11:30 a.m.

There were ten dreadful seconds of pause which she used to down her coffee, despite it being piping hot. Her hand flew over her mouth in utter embarrassment. All she could do was hope he didn’t take it the wrong way. God, why did things like this always happen to her?

_Maybe to you ;D_

_But I wanna look good for EVERYONE_

_So PLEASE help_

Read Saturday, 11:31 a.m.

Just as she was about to reply with an exasperated ‘nooo’, another message came.

_Ill buy u food_

Read Saturday, 11:32 a.m.

Buttercup laughed at his bargaining. The prospect of food didn’t interest her much, but his whole attitude about getting a suit was funny (and maybe a little endearing). She planned to say yes, but decided to mess with him a bit more.

_gasp_

_food_

_how could i refuse_

Received Saturday, 11:33 a.m.

_Pleeeeeeease_

Read Saturday, 11:33 a.m.

_fine_

Received Saturday, 11:33 a.m.

_THANK you_

_Meet you @ the mall in 20_

Read Saturday, 11:34 a.m.

Rolling her eyes, Buttercup wondered if he’d really forgotten. The guy literally drove her back to her place two days ago.

_dude my car’s battery is dead_

Received Saturday, 11:34 a.m.

_Fuck_

_Fine, pick u up in 20_

Read Saturday, 11:34 a.m.

_k, see ya_

Received Saturday, 11:35 a.m.

Burying her head in her hands, she quickly combed her fingers through her hair. Twenty minutes to change and get ready. _Just_ ready – she had no reason to actually try.

That conviction ran out of her head the second she’d found herself putting on eyeliner and heavily spraying on her favorite perfume.

* * *

It was around noon when Blossom remembered she’d have to get ready for the evening. Given her circumstances, she would have to take longer than the average person, so she asked Brick to help get her into the shower like last time. After she was done, she got dressed by herself. Since Brick had done the laundry yesterday, there were clothes neatly stacked on the dryer, and she took the first things that fell under her hand – a pair of sweatpants and a red hoodie.

She was lounging in the living room, appreciatively sniffing the scent of her hair and hoodie. Now that it was washed, her hair smelled like the strawberry and cherry shampoo she always used. She couldn’t remember where she’d bought the hoodie, but it was soft, oversized, and smelled of cinnamon.

The moment she turned on the TV to check the weather, Brick walked out of the bathroom. And he was _shirtless_. On instinct, her shoulders shot up and her hands covered her eyes.

“Blossom, have you seen my-” he began, and then let out an “oh” which she didn’t understand.

“What the heck! Put a shirt on!” She squealed, peeking through her fingers. And _no_ , she was _not_ looking at his chest. Or shoulders. Or arms. Nothing but his face.

… Why was it so red? His cheeks nearly matched his hair! Was something wrong?

“Hothead…?”

As soon as she’d said it, Blossom followed the line of his amused gaze, and it dawned on her. Heat rose to her face, and she tugged at the sleeves.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She threw her hands up. “Here!”

“No, no, no! Wait!” Brick made a panicked stutter. “It’s okay, you can wear it, Icy!”

Her hands stopped at the seam of the hoodie. Eyes wide with shock and cheeks red with embarrassment, Blossom looked back up at him. “What?”

“Yeah, sure.” He crossed his arms, and she simply _couldn’t_ tear her eyes away from the movement. “I’ll wear something else, I don’t mind.”

His face wasn’t as red anymore, and the surprised “o” of his mouth grew into a smile. Blossom stared questioningly.

“Are you sure?” She let go of the seams.

“Of course,” he said, “You… It looks good on you.”

He turned back to the bathroom before Blossom could string together a proper response. Not that she cared now – all she could think about was the gentle, sweet-smelling material that hugged her.

Brick returned with a striped shirt on, his damp bangs still clinging to his face. “Did you open the dress Bubbles sent you?”

“No, not yet. Do you think I should I try it on?” she asked.

He shrugged optimistically. “Sure, why not. I’ll help you.”

She told him she’d put the package in the drawer next to her bed, and Brick went to get it. Moments later, he came back with the wrapped dress and a red string.

No… Her ribbon.

“Hey, what’s this? I found it in the drawer next to the package,” he said, raising the material. He noticed her eyes glinting when she saw it.

“It’s a gift,” Blossom smiled sadly, “Put it back, I can’t wear it yet.”

“Wear it?”

“I used to tie my hair up with it.” Her eyes were quickly cast to the floor. “I decided that I’m going to wear it if I walk again.”

Brick nodded, as if understanding that he shouldn’t ask who she’d gotten it from. Instead, he handed her the package and went to put the ribbon back. While he did that, Blossom unraveled the dress her sister had sent her.

“Oh.”

Her caregiver poked his head out from the hall. “What is it?”

“It’s beautiful, but it’s kind of… uh…” Instead of explaining, Blossom simply held it out in front of her.

Walking toward her and examining it, he didn’t seem to find any issue. “Kind of…?”

“Well, it’s gorgeous, but I don’t know if I can pull it off.” She put the top part to her shoulders, taking in the measurements. “I used to wear dresses like this at galas and soirees, but now it’s…”

“Different?”

“…Yeah.”

Brick sat down next to her. “Different, how?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Like… I’m worried that it won’t look good on me.”

He let out a surprised chuckle. “Why wouldn’t it?”

Shrugging dejectedly, she lowered the dress onto her lap. “Well, I’ll be sitting all the time, so it won’t have the same effect, will it?”

“You’d look great in it.”

Brick’s voice was rough, and he flinched like it was a slip of the tongue. He tried to cover it up with a cough. “How about you try it on anyway, and we’ll see how it looks?”

Pretending not to have heard him, she smiled. “Sure, let’s see.”

Putting it on was a much bigger fuss than they had expected. Given the many layers of tulle, sorting through of them and straightening them all out was messy, but in the end, Brick looked pleased with the job he’d done. She couldn’t tell what that smile meant. Once he’d placed her in the wheelchair again, they were in the closet room, where the grand mirror was.

Blossom gripped the armrests of her wheelchair, lips pursed in disbelief. Behind her in the mirror, Brick leaned on its back, a content spark to his eyes.

The material draped over her chest was light and comfortable, but a tad too revealing for her liking. The space between the two strips of fabric revealed the lace of her bra, and she shuddered. While it was beautiful and Bubbles had done a good job, it was still a tad too revealing. But, if she was going to wear it, Blossom decided she would wear it _properly,_ as dresses with a low cut should. After all, this was her sister’s fashion show, and she was not about to disappoint by showing up in something else or wearing it the wrong way.

“So?” Brick piped up, propping his chin up on his wrist.

Blossom adjusted the material before reaching back to unclasp her bra. “It’s beautiful, but this needs to go.”

She appreciated how flustered he looked as he turned away. “Okay!”

Once that was gone, she had to admit that the dress fit her much better. “How do I look?”

As he turned back around, she could hear the faintest gasp leave him. He stood frozen for a minute, before his shoulders relaxed and he grinned.

“Amazing,” he said, barely above a whisper.

It was enough to send heat running to her cheeks. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He leaned on the handlebars. “It suits you.”

She hummed a laugh. “I don’t think black is really my color.”

“Maybe,” he said, “But the pink at the bottom makes you stand out.”

Looking up at him, she chuckled, “And what are you going to wear?”

Brick stepped back to rummage through the closet he’d taken for himself. “Got an old tuxedo, a red shirt and a black tie.”

She put her hand under her chin in thought. “Never thought you’d be a tuxedo kind of guy.”

Pulling out what he needed from the closet, he cocked his head to the side. “What kind of guy would I be, Icy?”

“Dunno. You struck me as a ‘suspenders and coat’ guy.”

He laughed. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too casual?”

“Well, to be fair, I’ve never seen you in anything more formal to judge,” she reminded with a joking point of her finger.

“Hm, yeah. Makes sense.”

Blossom clapped excitedly. “Well? What are you waiting for! Put it on!”

He smirked at her reaction as he disappeared behind the door. Buzz trotted in when he left, all but leaping at Blossom as if he’d never seen her before. She hugged the happy dog, laughing between his barks and sniffs.

“Well?” Brick called from the closet room door, and she turned to look at him.

A breath escaped her when she laid eyes on him. The black suit accentuated the already sharp lines of his body. The black tie draped loosely around his neck, waiting to be tied. This was a side of him she’d never expected to see – he looked elegant. She already thought Brick to be handsome, but there was something about him in a suit that made her wish he’d wear them more often.

Buzz tilted his head at him.

He ran a hand through his wild hair before putting his cap back on. His hand then lowered to adjust his cuff links.

“The cap stays on?” She giggled.

Brick huffed. “Of course.”

“And you’ll tie that tie?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

He got closer to the mirror to put the collar of his shirt in place. Blossom paid close attention to the movement of his hands as he did so.

“You look great.”

Brick’s head shot back at her, some mixture of gladness and relief painted on his features. He couldn’t help but reach out a hand to touch her face. The light brush of his fingers across her cheek sent a shiver up her spine.

“Thanks.”

* * *

It’s been about an hour since they’d met up, and Buttercup was tired of waiting. She was sitting in the garden of a café, while Butch picked out a suit in some shop close by. She’d told him she had no idea how to pick out a suit, and after a brief argument, they agreed she could sit around somewhere until he was done. Her coffee cup was already empty, and she was already done with this.

Just when she was about to call him, her phone’s screen flashed with a text from him. Her eyes widened at the message’s contents. One word.

_Help_

Read Saturday, 01:03 p.m.

Having paid her bill, Buttercup all but sprinted to where he was. She stopped in front of the display window, eyes searching the inside of the shop for her contest partner.

There he was, by the changing rooms. And the reason he sent such a vague but reeling message was… a girl?

Buttercup scowled. What was so urgent about being obviously flirted with? Hell, he was even smiling! After breathing an annoyed scoff, she shot him a text.

_what’s the problem_

Received Saturday, 01:10 p.m.

She could see him reaching for his phone and glancing around until their eyes met. The brunette girl seemed to keep talking regardless. He mouthed a “Help” before she received another text.

_PLEASE help_

_She wont stop_

Read Saturday, 01:11 p.m.

_so_

Received Saturday, 01:11 p.m.

_Im not interestd_

_Pls just do smth_

_Idk how to reject her_

Read Saturday, 01:12 p.m.

As she was about to text him to deal with it himself, Buttercup realized, this was the most _perfect_ opportunity for payback. Thus, she strutted through the shop’s sliding doors, the grin on her face decidedly devious. She approached Butch and the blabbering girl.

“ _Baby!_ ” She purposefully clung to his arm, her voice a note higher, relishing in the confused shudder he produced. “I’m done with shopping, are you ready to go?”

When she poked his side with a commanding finger, Butch caught on.

“Oh, hey, babe _,_ ” he cooed, putting special emphasis on the pet name. “Not yet, I still have to pick out that suit.”

The flirtatious brunette stepped back, an affronted tilt to her head. “Sorry, who is this?”

Smirking, Buttercup laced their fingers on one hand and held it up. “Uh, I’m his girlfriend?”

All color drained from her face as she asked, “Really! For how long?”

The lying duo exchanged a glance, before simultaneously blurting out wildly different numbers.

“Three months!” Buttercup said.

“Five years!” Butch said.

Another glance, this one much more menacing on Buttercup’s part.

Butch turned back to the girl. “Five years and three months,” he confirmed, trying not to flinch at Buttercup’s deathly grip on his arm.

“Oh.” The girl lifted her hands defensively. “Well, I’m sorry I bothered you, I didn’t know! Have a nice day.”

As she skipped away as if without a care in the world, Buttercup couldn’t help the bitter taste in her mouth. _Yeah, you better be,_ she thought, and then, _… What the fuck?_

Before she could reprimand herself, Butch burst out laughing. “Dude, what the fuck was that!”

She punched his shoulder, cackling, but angry that he was happy about this. “Payback, Bitch!”

He straightened back up, still laughing. “For what?”

“The shit you pulled at _The Black Cat_ ,” she grinned devilishly, “You should’ve seen your face, you were all like ‘the FUCK?’”

Butch raised a cocky eyebrow. “Alright, you win, we’re even now.”

Putting her hands on her hips, she prepared to walk away. “Yeah, well, I’m gone.”

“Wait!” He called her over, “Butts, I seriously need help with the suit thing.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Just pick a damn suit.”

“It’s not that easy! I look hot in everything!” He waved his arms.

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “So! Pick _any_ damn suit!”

“That’s not how this works!” He all but thrashed like a spoiled kid. “C’mon, I have two that I really like, but I suck at choosing things! Just pick one for me!”

Rolling her shoulders back, she sighed, giving in. “Fine,” she groaned, “Show me.”

Butch pulled out the two suits from the changing room he’d occupied.

One was utterly _hideous_ in Buttercup’s view – it was entirely neon green: the jacket, the pants _and_ the shirt. Even the tie! She was almost convinced that it could be seen from outer space, being as bright and eye-piercing as that. Not even Bubbles would approve of it.

The other wasn’t any better, though – while the first was too bright, the second was too dark! All of it was pitch-black, funeral-ready. It took the “black tie event” sentiment way too far. Buttercup dragged a hand down her face, trying to think.

“And?” He asked eagerly.

“They suck, dude.”

“What?!” Butch almost yelled. “They’re badass!”

“They’re not! Shut up, let me think!” Her hand covered her mouth, deep in thought. _Maybe if…_

“Can the pieces be bought separately or like, mixed?”

He stared curiously. “I… think so?”

“Okay. Try the black pants and jacket with the green shirt and black tie.” Buttercup pointed them out as she spoke.

Looking at her as if she’d grown a second out, Butch muttered a suspicious “okay” as he got back in the changing room with the selected items. She waited outside, still in disbelief that he managed to drag her into this. Part of her perked up at the idea of him in a suit, but she violently pushed it down.

He came out minutes later, and she had to keep her jaw from dropping.

But while he did put the tie on properly, the collar of his shirt stood disheveled. Without thinking, Buttercup reached out to fix him.

At first, he gave her a look of confusion, but quickly figured out what she was trying to do. Her fingers burned against the skin of his neck in the most pleasant way, and Butch fancied the concentrated look in her eyes. As soon as she was done, his shoulders sagged from the stiff position he didn’t even realize he’d put them in.

“There. Look.” Buttercup recoiled, gesturing to the mirror next to her.

Butch took one long, stern look up and down his reflection, and then nodded. “Okay, this is it, then.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Duh. You’re right, I look smokin’ hot, Butts.” He curled his lips into a smirk. “Thanks for the help.”

Averting her eyes, she scoffed. “Whatever. Take it off, pay and let’s go. I need to get ready, too.”

Butch leaned on the wall of the changing room, unbuttoning the jacket. “What are you wearing?”

“Bubs sent me a dress she designed herself.”

“Really? What’s it like?”

BC grinned, unconsciously wondering what he would think about it. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	27. Black Tie Event, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they decide on a song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I guilty of pushing my music tastes onto them? Absolutely  
> do I care? Not At All
> 
> headcanon - Butch sounds like Thutmose when he raps, Buttercup sounds like Lzzy Hale when she sings

The show itself was supposed to start at six o’clock, so they had a lot of time to kill. Once they left the suit at Buttercup’s place, they decided to spend it by going back to the studio and adding the finishing touches to the songs they’d worked on separately. Buttercup’s ears had begun to hurt from having those huge, bulky headphones glued to her ears for such a long time, so when they were done, she let out an audible sigh.

The style of the six songs they had so far was reminiscent of _Hollywood Undead_ – strong guitar and bass, with Buttercup’s wild vocals and Butch’s rapping à la _Thutmose._ Surprisingly, they turned out better than they’d expected. Though their styles were quite different individually, they mixed well, and the duo was pleased with their end results.

Seven more songs to go, one of which was supposed to be a cover. Brainstorming up an original right now seemed pointless, since they only had about two hours until they had to be at the museum. Instead, they talked about the cover and pitched their ideas. This was where their differences met again.

“ _Five Seconds Of Summer?_ ” Buttercup suggested.

“Nope, too mainstream.” Butch shot down. “ _Chase Atlantic?_ ”

“Nah, too low-key. Never even heard of them.” She shook her head.

“Dude, your music taste is basic,” he joked with a kick to her knee under the high table.

“No, it isn’t!” She pushed him and nearly knocked him off. “We can’t do something no one knows! That cover is supposed to launch us up there, if none of the other songs work out!”

He crossed his arms over the table. “You’ve got a point…”

“Let’s keep going. _Nothing But Thieves?_ ”

As soon as she said it, Butch’s phone began to ring. She had to hold back a laugh at his ringtone – Buttercup recognized it as the intro to _Cobra Starship_ ’s “Good Girls Go Bad”.

He shushed her. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

She snorted. “Pfft, go ahead.”

“Yo.” He answered in a tone that was hard to take seriously after hearing his ringtone. “Yeah… Yeah, I took tonight off for that… Yep, I got it… Okay. How’s Jo? …Oh, cool… Yeah, I’ll tell ‘em he said hi. I gotta go now, was that all you had? …Okay, bye. See ya.”

With that, he hung up, and Buttercup stopped holding back the loud laughter that was building up since he picked up.

“You make ‘em good girls go bad, huh?” She cackled and held her stomach.

He scoffed, though he found it funny, too. “What can I say, it’s a guilty pleasure.”

“Sure, sure, Bitch.” She wheezed until she calmed down.

A beat or two passed, until Butch slammed his hands on the table top.

“THAT’S IT!” He exclaimed, making her stumble.

“What the fuck?!” She yelled back.

He spread his arms as if he were pointing out the obvious. “We should do a song that’s a guilty pleasure for both of us!”

With a hand under her chin in thought, Buttercup leaned back in her chair. “It’s not a bad idea, but still, _which song_?”

Crossing his arms, Butch asked the reasonable question. “What are your guilty pleasures in music?”

Her eyebrows raised awkwardly as she stared at her fingers. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Says the girl who laughed at me the second she heard _Cobra Starship_.”

Buttercup stuck out her tongue. “Point taken.”

…

“Well?”

“… Emo bands and pop-rock.” She felt her cheeks lighting up.

He leaned forward in his chair with an incredulous expression. “For real?!”

Her eyebrows knit together in an agitated frown. She lifted her fists. “Yeah, what about it, Bitch?!”

“Whoa, chill!” He withdrew from his position, palms raised defensively. “I said that because I like that, too!”

Now it was her turn to look shocked. Buttercup lowered her hands. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” He slapped his knees with excitement. “Had a phase back in middle school when I was hooked on that shit, and it kinda stuck! What bands are you into?!”

She grinned, because that was how she’d gotten into that, too. She raised a hand as she listed off. “ALL the main stuff – _Panic! At The Disco_ , _Twenty One Pilots_ , _Fall Out Boy_ …”

“YES! Holy shit! That’s it!” Butch looked like a toddler who’s been fed ice cream for the first time. “Dude, I _bet_ you could pull a Brendon Urie-level high note.”

Scratching her head, she laughed at the back-handed compliment. “Well, maybe not _that_ high, but I’d say a solid Patrick Stump note, yeah. Like the one in ‘American Beauty/American Psycho’.”

“Dude, that album went off the shits. Some action movie vibes, right there.” He had the most fanboy-ish face on, she found it endearing.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I still prefer ‘Save Rock and Roll’. That one _slapped_.”

Butch cocked his head to one side. “Is that the one where they collabed with Courtney Love and Elton John?”

“ _And_ Big Sean! Don’t you fuckin’ forget it!” She pointed a reminding finger.

His eyes widened. “You deadass?!”

Buttercup mimicked his expression. “Duh! How did you not know this, rap boy?!”

“I only heard the ones I said! And I didn’t like ‘em much, but I didn’t hear _that_ one!” He clapped his hands for emphasis. “Show! Me!”

She pulled out her pair of earphones because there was _no way_ she was going to put on those heavy headphones on again. Once she handed them to him, she pulled out her phone and searched through her music app.

When she pulled it up, Butch held out one of the earphones to her. Reluctantly, she took it and put on “The Mighty Fall”.

The problem with earphones was that, no matter how one put them on, if they were to be shared with someone else, the two people were bound to get close. Buttercup didn’t know how to feel about that. Her shoulder was brushing against his side, and she had to move her head just next to his jaw. The song began with its first guitar strums, and he bobbed his head to the beat.

“Badass,” he commented.

She hummed affirmatively.

While the position itself wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, it made her mind wander. As the song played, she was tuned out, wondering what would happen if she were to put her head on his shoulder. Or if he were to nudge his jaw against her forehead. Or if…

The top of her head brushed against his neck. Fuck. _He smells like mint._

And that’s where she stopped herself. Buttercup didn’t recoil or jump, but she found herself waiting for the song to end. Or for him to say anything. It must’ve been the silence between them, making her think stupid things.

“The guitar seems simple?” His statement took up her attention.

“Yeah, I learned these riffs before.”

Seconds later, at the chorus.

“And that long note there – think you can pull it off?”

She made a so-so motion with her hands. “Maybe. I’d need to test it out. What about you and the drums?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage.”

Then, Big Sean’s rap hook began, and Butch was visibly in thought. She saw him chew on his piercings, his fingers counting out the beats with fully devoted concentration. His eyes narrowed to pensive slits, and Buttercup was so caught up in the movement, she nearly missed his following remark.

“Butts, I think we just found our cover.”

She raised a challenging eyebrow as she pulled away. “Great, we’ll work on it when we finish the other stuff.”

Butch came to realize how cold he was now that she wasn’t so close, but promptly ignored the feeling. “Good idea. What time is it?”

Her shoulders shot up while she checked her phone. “Four thirty! Shit! I need to get home!”

Getting up from his stool, he gave her a shrug. “What’s the rush? We have an hour and a half, Butts.”

As Buttercup got off her seat, she gave him a scowl. “I need to fuckin’ get ready for that!”

He walked to the door and opened it for her, still as confused as before. “What kind of getting ready takes more than an hour?”

* * *

Apparently, _Buttercup’s_ kind of getting ready takes an hour or so.

Butch found it utterly comical. While she was taking her sweet time in the bathroom of her apartment, he sat around, already dressed and ready. He’d already showered before they met up to get his suit, and his breath wasn’t half bad, if he said so himself. Only a little hair gel would do him wonders now, but he figured they didn’t have time, so he dropped the idea of making a run for his apartment to get it.

He didn’t know what it was that made him fidget around, walking circles in her living room while waiting. Maybe it was curiosity that came with entering someone else’s home. Maybe it was the light sound of water trickling down from the next room over. Maybe it was the sky outside her windows, turning darker by the minute, rainclouds threatening to spew any moment.

But it wasn’t nerves. Butch had no reason to be nervous.

“’Kay, I’m ready,” she said as she stepped out.

So why was his heart in his throat? Better question – why’d butterflies take off flying the moment he saw her? His breath caught – Buttercup was a damn sight for sore eyes in that dress. A pair of high heels, and she was at eye level with him. A cloud of black eyeshadow brought out the true vibrant green her eyes really were. The dark maroon shade of her lipstick drew his attention, and Butch was about ready to drop.

He had enough self-control to play off his stunned silence with a cough.

“Khm, took you long enough,” he said with a cross of his arms.

“Ha-ha,” Buttercup mocked. “You ready?”

He nodded, reaching out his elbow and forearm for her to hold on. “Let’s go, Butts.”

She made a point of puffing out her cheeks and indignantly placing her hands on her hips. “I can walk by myself, _thank you very much_.”

As soon as she took a step, she stumbled into him, and he laughed at the offended expression that that granted.

“You sure about that?” He asked, holding her up by the elbows.

Buttercup groaned, “I can’t walk in heels to save my life.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, neither can I,” he joked.

“Oh fuck you,” she rolled her eyes.

She still held onto his forearm as they walked to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj
> 
> I HEAVILY recommend the song they chose to cover (The Mighty Fall - Fall Out Boy ft. Big Sean):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPc4m_DGMMM  
> (it's kind of foreshadow-y >:3c)


	28. The Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they attend Bubbles's fashion show and receive the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh this one took way too long for no reason
> 
> thank you so much for your support!! feel free to message me here or over tumblr, i love reading through your input <3

The white building of the museum was lit up turquoise, sharply and tastefully contrasting against the orange sky. Its front was decorated with a bright blue arc of balloons, and as they passed through, the musicians were greeted by Bubbles and Boomer.

“BC!” The designer yelled as she leaped forward for a hug. “I’m so glad you came!”

Buttercup squeezed her heartily. “How could I not?” She smiled. “Thank you for the dress.”

“Do you like it?” Bubbles gasped and pulled away.

“I love it! It’s the best dress I’ve ever worn, thank you so much!” The green-clad sister pulled her in.

“Good to see you again,” Butch shook hands with Bubbles.

“Thank you for coming!” She beamed. “Come in!”

Boomer extended a hand for a fist bump. “Hey.”

Butch met it. “Hey. Where’s the other two?”

“They’re already here.” Boomer laughed with a roll of his eyes. “You know Brick – always early.”

The museum’s wide main hall had three rows of chairs arranged on either side of the runway. At the very front, six of them had strips of fabric with the word ‘reserved’ in tall letters covering them, and their hosts led them there, before leaving to tend to the other guests. Two chairs in the middle were already occupied, with one having been replaced with a wheelchair. Brick rose from his seat to say hi.

“’Sup?” Buttercup shook hands with him.

“Sup?” he asked in reply.

“Where’s the dog?”

Brick laughed.

“Robin’s dog-sitting for us for tonight,” Blossom responded in his stead.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought she’d be coming here, too.”

Blossom shrugged good-naturedly. “Robin had _plans_ , if you catch my drift.”

Hiding the surprised “oh” of her mouth, Buttercup noticed her redheaded sister looking at her wide-eyed. It occurred to her that her eyes were moving between her and Butch.

“Hey,” Blossom said, before adding in a whisper, “is that who I think it is?”

She nodded.

“Are you two good now?”

Buttercup grinned, sending a glance to the person in question. He was oblivious to it.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

It earned her a smile from her sister. “Love your dress.”

“Thanks! Yours is gorgeous, too.”

“Yo,” Butch hugged Brick with a strong pat on the back.

“Hey, dude,” Brick pulled away.

Butch then reached out to shake hands with Blossom. “Hi, Butch Jojo.”

She smiled up at him. “Blossom Utonium, nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” he said, then conspiratorially bent lower and signaled for the others to do the same. “Hey, what do you think is the announcement they mentioned?”

Blossom and Brick exchanged a knowing and excited glance. “They must be getting engaged!” They said in unison.

Buttercup seemed skeptical. “Are you sure? I didn’t see a ring…”

Brick’s shoulders sagged. She had a point.

Crossing his arms, Butch sat down. “Maybe he’s going to propose during dinner?”

“Yeah, maybe. He was always a sucker for grand gestures,” Brick joked as a waiter came round and offered them champagne. They each took a flute.

Buttercup snorted. “Since when is proposing in front of like, four people, a grand gesture?”

He shrugged. “For some people, it is.”

Blossom nodded in agreement. “True, but it still doesn’t make much sense.”

Butch’s hands rose to slap his cheeks. “Guys, _fuck_ , what if they’re breaking up?!”

Buttercup nudged his shoulder with a wary glance toward Blossom. “ _Language._ ”

“You curse too, though?” He crossed his arms in overdramatic mock-offense.

Her sister laughed.

Brick put a hand to his chin in thought. “Doubt it. Why’d they make the announcement part sound so positive, then?”

“Yeah, and why would she go out of her way to make us dresses for it? Or make a reservation at a place as fancy as _The Blue Collar_?” Buttercup pointed out.

“So what do you think it is?” Brick asked her.

“Dunno,” she took her first sip of champagne, “We’ll see.”

“See what?” Boomer appeared next to them, taking the second seat from the start of the row.

“Nothing!” The suspicious group replied in unison, earning themselves a curious stare from Boomer.

The dim lights slightly brightened, and the music faded until it was a drowned-out hum. They all sat back down. At the start of the runway stood Bubbles, elegantly holding a flute of champagne in front of her dress. Its black and blue shimmered under the spotlight as she began to speak.

“Dear associates, thank you all for attending my twentieth fashion show!” She opened her arms as if she were welcoming them. “This ready-to-wear spring/summer collection is a mix of all my inspirations, so you’ll notice it is wild and colorful. After the show, the pieces will be auctioned off with the help of my lovely agent, Katherine Yamada, and the _Townsville Represent_ modeling agency! I’d like to give a special thank you to Raphael Robinson, the owner of Townsville’s Museum of Modern Art and a long-time friend, for allowing me to use this space to showcase my creations! Cheers, Raph!”

She raised her glass, and a round of applause sounded through the main hall. A chubby, well-dressed man sitting across from the group stood from his seat at the front and politely bowed.

“And a great, big thank you to my lovely support team – my significant other and my sisters!” Raising her glass in a vague gesture towards them, she smiled brighter than the spotlight. Another wave of applause, acknowledged by nods of the mentioned people.

“Without further ado, let us begin and I hope you enjoy!” Bubbles took a bow, received by the final wave of applause, before joining the group. Her exit was followed by the beginning notes of light techno music.

She handed Boomer her still full flute as she sat down. “How’d I do?”

“You did amazing, baby,” he greeted her with a proud peck on the lips.

The waiter came round again, but Bubbles refused another glass, instead shifting the material of her dress to look more flattering. Once he was gone, the show began with cameras flashing, and all of their attentions shifted to the models appearing one by one.

Well, _almost_ all of their attentions. Sitting next to her, Brick began to notice Blossom gradually stiffening up. Her back was flat against the back of her seat, and her jaw set in a tight bite on nothing.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper, leaning close to her ear.

“Yeah,” she answered with a shiver, “Just a bit overwhelmed by the cameras, is all. Seems I forgot how it feels, you know.”

His eyebrows knit together. “D’you want me to take you outside?”

Blossom swiftly turned her head, then recoiled at how close his face was. “N-no,” she stuttered with a sip of champagne, “I don’t wanna miss this. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

 _But how could he not?_ He pressed his lips together as she turned back around. Brick’s eyes lingered on the moving fingers of her free hand – clutching the armrest of her wheelchair as if for dear life. He sighed. One reluctant but quick move later, her small hand was in his much bigger one, fingers threaded and holding on for support.

She squeezed. He let her. Neither dared to look up at the other.

The interaction didn’t go unnoticed by Buttercup, sitting right next to them. She hid a smart smile behind a sip of champagne.

While Bubbles’s eyes were enthusiastically glued to her creations as if she hadn’t seen them millions of times by now, all Boomer could look at was her. The small smile playing on his lips could tell anyone everything. All he could think about was always keeping that radiant smile on her face. And when she looked back at him, the floodlight behind her turned, and Boomer swore he was in love with an angel.

“They’re gorgeous,” Butch commented, more to himself than to anyone else.

Buttercup decided to mess around. “The models or the outfits?”

There was a weird saltiness in his snort. “The outfits. I’m not much for models.”

Not knowing how to answer that, she sat back and wondered about the awkward relief she felt after his clarification.

Bubbles was right in describing the collection as “wild and colorful” – she always knew how to make things that would normally look weird seem natural, if not fashionable. Color theory was always her favorite part in designing, and to see her work received so well, she was nothing but ecstatic. As the final lineup arrived at the end of the runway, she stood up to bow once more and take the many bouquets her associates had brought her. After a brief photoshoot, she returned to them.

“Shall we?” Boomer held out his hand for her to take.

She giggled, “We shall.”

* * *

The sophisticated atmosphere of _The Blue Collar_ was something Blossom would never get used to, no matter how many times she dined there. It was modeled after galleries of baroque and rococo. Large, gallant paintings lined the white, molded walls. The wheels of her wheelchair made no sound against the dark blue carpets. Classical music coming from the pianist on his stage occupied her ears. Their table was in the very center of the dining hall, giving a great view of the whole restaurant and the painted ceiling above.

Once they’d ordered their food and drinks, Boomer asked the waiter for a bottle of white wine. Shortly after, the waiter was back, their drinks in tow.

Boomer raised his glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Clinking their glasses, Buttercup oddly squinted at Bubbles. “Are you driving?”

The blonde sister hummed questioningly.

“You’re drinking water. Are you the designated driver or something?”

As soon as she’d said it, Blossom figured it out. The words were at the tip of her tongue, but she held them and kept an unassuming expression.

Bubbles and Boomer exchanged glances. She raised her eyebrows. “Do we tell them now or…?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s better to do it now than over dinner.”

She nodded, earning them a confused stare from Buttercup and Butch. After that, Brick came to realize it, too, and failed to compose his shocked face.

“Tell us what?” Buttercup asked over a sip of her wine.

Bubbles and Boomer interlaced their fingers, smiles growing on their faces with each word. “We’re having a baby!”

An unholy snort escaped Buttercup as she choked on her drink. Butch gave her a few quick slaps on the back until she wheezed out, “WHAT?!”

Their grins didn’t waver one bit. “Yeah!”

Brick would have stood up, if it weren’t for Blossom’s hand holding him down by the shoulder. “Really?!”

“COUGH UP THE MONEY, BLOSSOM,” Buttercup screamed a laugh as she bashed her hand against the table.

Blossom rolled her eyes. Brick nudged her. “What?”

“When we were in middle school, we talked about stuff like getting married and having kids, and we bet on who would do what first.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, careful not to smudge her makeup. “Buttercup bet that Bubsy would get pregnant first.”

Butch jumped from his seat, pointing a finger at Brick. “HEY! We did that, too! You said I’d be the first to knock someone up unexpectedly!”

Boomer scratched his neck with discomfort. “Could we please talk about that later?”

While Butch sat back down, Blossom nodded. “Sure! Sorry about that… Although I have to ask, what’s going to happen now? Do you have any plans?”

A deep blush covered Bubbles’s cheeks as she replied, “We’re keeping the baby, of course. And we agreed we’d get married when the kid turns five.”

“Wonderful.” Buttercup, having finally calmed down, now thoughtfully swirled the drink in her glass. “Did you tell dad?”

“Of course,” Bubbles said, sending a funny look Boomer’s way. “He was really happy about it, no need to worry.”

“And you? Did you tell dad?” Butch asked Boomer.

Brick’s jaw set.

The blond brother nodded. “Yeah, he’s happy too. I told him the day I dropped Buttercup off at your place.”

He must not have caught the way that sounded, because he was oblivious to the significant widening of Buttercup’s eyes.

“Well!” Blossom perked up. “I’m happy for you, Bubs! How far along are you?”

Bubbles’s hands came together in an appreciative clasp. “Thanks, Blossy! At the end of April, I’ll be one month down! My doctor said they’ll be a December baby!”

Buttercup snorted. “Li’l Sagittarius kiddo. Jokes aside, I’m happy for you, too.”

She smiled at her. “Thank you, BC.”

Offering a small smile, Brick raised his glass to toast. “Well, here’s to Bubbles and Boomer and the little one. Cheers!”

The others joined him. “Cheers!”

Just as they finished the toast, their food arrived, and conversation ceased as they began eating. However, Boomer couldn’t keep his curiosity to himself, and asked the question burning in his mouth.

“So, Brick, you didn’t tell me how you and Blossom got together.”

He couldn’t have phrased the question any better, it seemed, as Blossom choked on her bite. Coughing it up with Brick’s assistance, she regained her composure, though still a bit red in the cheeks.

Then, the two in question made a non-verbal exchange of sorts. They hadn’t put any thought into how they would tell them. All that was left was to think up a convincing lie. Before she could put in a word, Brick told them. He figured he was better at on-the-spot lying.

“We, uh- We’ve actually met long ago.” He racked his brain for what he could remember, squeezing her hand under the table to keep her quiet. “Back when I first started hockey, I’d run into her after practice terms. Made small-talk, joked around, added each other on FacePlace. And like, two weeks ago, I got suspended and needed a temporary job. She posted an ad on there looking for a caregiver and I said, ‘screw it’ and messaged her about it. So yeah, here we are now.”

The others sounded an “oh” in understanding. He felt her grip gratefully tighten around his hand.

Having swallowed her bite of smoked salmon, Bubbles tilted her head to the side. “Hold on, ‘temporary’? So you won’t stay as her caregiver after your suspension is over?”

Gulping down more of his wine, he failed to see Blossom distastefully looking down on her lap.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” He smiled at her as if it were a joke. “Although, I will be there at the start of her therapy.”

Boomer smiled encouragingly. “Oh yeah, how’s that going, Blossy? Bubsy told me you’d be trying therapy a while ago.”

Seeming to shrink in her seat, Blossom burned holes into her lap by staring. She put her fork down and sipped on her wine. “Yeah, I talked to my doctor yesterday, and we set up a schedule for hydrotherapy. I don’t have my hopes too high, but we’ll see how it goes.”

There was a darkness behind her eyes as she attempted a smile, and Brick wanted nothing but to snap her out of it. Curse his brother and his snooping. He shot him a lightning-fast glare, before returning to chew on his overcooked shrimp.

“We’ll see, of course,” Boomer grinned all-too-optimistically for Blossom’s taste.

Silence settled between them, save for the clacking of knives and forks against the fine china. Buttercup hated it. She stopped whatever other too-personal question Boomer had coming with her own remark.

“Butch and I are halfway done with our album,” she said.

“Really?” Blossom instantly perked up. “How’s that going?”

“Pretty good, actually.” Butch leaned back. Buttercup pointedly ignored his hand resting on the back of her chair. “The tracks I worked on when I was alone sound dumb now, don’t know what I’d do without this one here.”

His partner’s shoulders shot up. “Sh-shut up.”

Bubbles sent her a knowing look over her glass.

“Yo, by the way, I forgot to tell you – Dan called me up today, he and dad say hi,” Butch added through a mouthful of chili lobster.

Boomer hugged Bubbles closer with one arm around her shoulders. “Aw, they’re always so sweet.”

“Yeah!” She agreed. “They even sent me white roses for tonight!”

Nudging him, Blossom paid attention to the way Brick sat frozen. She whispered, “Who are they?”

Brick did not answer, instead pouring himself more wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	29. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the party is over, Blossom is drunk, and Butch likes thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't play around when I say I might update early ;D
> 
> also we reached over 5k hits and I'm speechless, thank you all so much QwQ <3
> 
> trigger warning - this chapter includes an intoxicated character

Several hours and glasses of wine later, the group decided it was time to leave. Conversation had gone far from dull, but that didn’t stop the clock from striking eleven.

Suddenly, everything was hilarious to Blossom. Her caregiver began to notice her swaying in her chair, left to right, like a drunken leaf in the wind. She giggled restlessly.

“Blossom, how much did you have?” He leaned in and asked with concern, clearly the more sober out of the two of them.

She loosely held the sleeve of his tux jacket. “I’m fiiiiiine,” she slurred.

Blossom was, obviously, not fine. Brick rolled his eyes as their siblings laughed.

“Don’t worry, she had two at most,” Buttercup clarified, “Bloss is just really lightweight.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he groaned.

Apparently, she still had enough sobriety in her to smack him on the arm. “ _Language!_ ”

Butch snorted, “You should really take her home, dude.”

“Yeah, we’re done here anyways,” Boomer shrugged in agreement.

Brick sighed as he began to push her to the door. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just need to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“I’m so glad you could come! Thank you for everything!” Bubbles said, giving each person a grateful hug.

“S’nothiiiiiiing,” Blossom drawled through a grin, then turned to pull Brick down to eye-level. She tried to whisper, but it came out as more of a garble. “Psst, d’ya know my sister’s preggers?”

The others tried their hardest not to laugh, but failed miserably. Brick sighed, “Yes, I do.”

“She is gonna be a mooooooom,” was all the other four heard as Brick pushed her toward the entrance.

Bubbles and Boomer said their goodbyes to Butch and Buttercup, just when they overheard an exasperated “Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me” from the same direction. The four walked toward it.

“What’s going on?” Bubbles asked before realizing it herself.

Outside, it was pouring as if it were straight from a tap. The night sky was flooded with dark clouds, lightning flashing before the occasional loud thunder. Brick’s shoulders slumped. No one had thought to bring an umbrella – that afternoon, the skies were clear and sunny! Who’d have had any idea that it’d be like this?

“Fuck,” Butch muttered, “What now?”

Without a second thought, Brick took off his jacket and put it over Blossom’s head. He ignored her blurry protests in favor of bolting it for his car and hastily placing her in the front seat. Once he’d put the wheelchair into the trunk, Brick waved his goodbye to the others and drove away at a dizzying speed.

“… Damn,” was all Boomer could comment.

“Yep,” Buttercup nodded, folding her shivery arms to save herself from the cold. _This_ is why she preferred long sleeves at all times.

Bubbles took hold of her boyfriend’s hand. “Well, we have to stay and meet up with my agent. Thank you for coming, guys!”

When she rushed back to the dining hall of the restaurant, Butch and Buttercup were left to stare at the downpour.

Butch stood with his hands in his pockets. Their- _his_ car was at the very end of the parking lot. Well wasn’t that a goddamn genius idea, parking it there of all places. After a contemplative second, he took his jacket off and held it out to her.

She eyed it warily. “What?”

He didn’t meet her confused gaze. “C’mon, take it and let’s go.”

Buttercup glared up at him as if he’d just cursed her out. “No, you take it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? Just take it and let’s run to the car. I’m not made of sugar, I’ll be fine,” he assured her with a half-angry bite of his lip. “You’ll ruin your dress.”

“And you’ll ruin your suit,” she hissed.

God, how petty could she get?

“ _Butts_ ,” he emphasized, “just take the fucking jacket!”

Out of sheer frustration, Buttercup snatched it from his hand, and then threw it over him.

“The fuck are you do-” was all he could say, before he saw her get under the jacket next to him, holding it above their heads like a makeshift blanket. He twitched at the dreaded closeness of her, eyes widening with awe.

“Let’s go,” she ordered, her sharp stare telling him there was no other option but to comply.

 _What a woman,_ he mused with a smile.

“Ready?” Butch said, grabbing his end of the jacket.

“Three, two-” she counted down, and off they went. Now and again, she’d stumble, still unused to the heels. He guided one of her arms around his shoulders to help her run. The drops drummed over the jacket, tickling their backs, and they didn’t care.

Butch didn’t care at all. He wasn’t scared of the lightning, or the thunder, or the dark sky above. He didn’t give a damn about the damp spots forming on the cuffs of his pants. He didn’t give a shit about his wet sleeves clinging to his arms. All he could think of was Buttercup’s laughter, thunderous and reckless, echoing pleasantly over the rain. He’d never heard her laugh like this before. And now, he never wanted her to stop. So he joined her.

They finally stooped to the car, and he left her with the jacket while he ran to the driver’s side. She rushed in, tired wheezes and a manic expression being all that was left of her laughter. As he put the car into ignition, Butch whooped and shook his hair free of the rain, sending droplets every which way.

“Ew, stop!” She laughed again, throwing her hands up to shield herself.

He grinned mischievously, strands of hair sticking to his forehead as if he were a wet dog. She didn’t look any better. The raindrops on her shoulders glistened in the car’s yellow light like sweat in the summer sun. Still, Butch thought he’d never seen someone so carelessly pretty.

He hid the thought behind his grit teeth, eyes on the road as he drove back to her place.

* * *

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are! We! There! Yet!”

Brick never imagined he’d be this annoyed with her. It didn’t help that he was soaked to the bone, or that the elevator was so fucking cold, or that she was utterly plastered.

“YES!” He yelled when the elevator reached their floor, either in reply or in relief.

After they’d gotten inside the apartment, Brick helped her change into pajamas, laughing and rolling his eyes at her awkward comments. Dropping her off in the bathroom, he went to the kitchen to get her some water. He found her sitting slumped against the bathroom sink, whining and fake-sobbing.

“What?” He approached her.

Blossom hicupped. “You left meeeeee,” she dragged out.

He sniffed a laugh as he handed her the glass of water. “Here, drink up and take off your makeup.”

Just as he turned to get his couch unfolded for sleep, she tugged on the damp sleeve of his suit. Right, he still hadn’t changed.

“What is it now?” Brick asked.

“Don’t goooooo,” she pleaded with a sob stuck in her throat. It confused him.

He let out a tired breath. “I gotta make my bed, Icy.”

Blossom made the most exaggerated expression of confusion, eyebrows knitting together and hooding over her squinting eyes. “… You don’t call me that.”

 _Well, that’s odd._ “What do I call you, then?” he asked, leaning his shoulder on the bathroom wall by the mirror.

Letting go of him, she threw herself back on the chair, nearly knocking herself over in the process. Her face turned rosy as she gushed, fingers tapping her cheeks bashfully. “Silly! You call me sooooo many cute things! You call me looooove, and honeeeeey, and baaaaaby, and sweetieeeee…”

He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. Still, Brick decided that this must be her intoxicated rambling, and dropped the subject. “Take your makeup off,” he reminded, before leaving to make his bed.

Upon returning, he found her in a similar state to before. Boozed up, pink pajamas bunched at the waist, her top half lying on the side of the sink. A trace of drool lined her cheek, eyeshadow and mascara smeared in her sloshed attempt to clean them off. And she seemed to be asleep.

Brick couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. What wouldn’t he do for this girl? He loaded a cotton pad with makeup remover and finished the job properly, stifling a laugh at her sleepy humming. Throwing the dirty puffs into the trash, he picked her up, choosing to carry her to bed.

As soon as he put her down and tucked her in, Blossom looked up at him through half-lidded eyes – looked at him as if he were something precious. Her hand reached up to skim over his jaw, soft fingertips running from his chin to his cheekbones. A strand of his hair caught between her fingers, and she slowly dragged it away, tired pink eyes following the fall of the crimson locks. The moment was so captivating, Brick was almost certain he was dreaming…

“Dexter,” she murmured sluggishly, “When… When did you grow your hair out…?”

And the dream was plunged into a nightmare. Her rambling from before suddenly made sense. He pulled away and exited the room, coming back only to leave her wheelchair, a basin and a glass of water by her bed, in case she woke up sick. He checked on Blossom again – she was out like a light. All of this, he did with utmost speediness, wordlessly, pushing her question out of his mind.

He took his time changing out of the soaking tuxedo, concentrating on undoing the buttons rather than her words. Something cold he couldn’t put a name to pooled inside him, and even with the shower turned to the hottest setting, it wouldn’t go away. He even blow-dried his hair, just to occupy his mind.

Brick went to sleep with two covers that night. Without Buzz to keep him company, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep, drained of any warmth. To calm himself down, he recounted tonight’s events, running through the topics of conversation from the top of his head.

Bubbles was pregnant. They talked about their bets – he couldn’t believe he owed Butch for that! Who would have thought Boomer even _knew_ how babies are made? Brick could literally see him now – six-year-old dumbass, sitting in their driveway, eating grass from the side of the road! God, their kid would have an interesting dad, to say the least. Hopefully, they would get the brains from their mother.

He remembered Bubbles asking about the “temporary” part of their arrangement, after he’d explained how he got the job. Sighing, he buried his head in his pillow.

Truth is, Brick was conflicted about that the most. As much as he wanted Blossom to stand again, part of him knew there was a chance that that might not be possible. And if Blossom didn’t stand up in his care, he’d only have one month left with her before having to return to hockey. That same part he hated held the wish to stay with her – to quit hockey and stay as her caregiver for good.

He hated that part for many reasons, and through Bubbles’s question, he’d begrudgingly acknowledged it. He hated it, because it meant Blossom might give up. He hated it, because it meant he might have to choose between her and hockey. He hated it, because he knew the rest of him would choose her in a heartbeat.

He hated it, because she wouldn’t choose him. In fact, she didn’t even choose him from the start. They started all this off with an argument! They started this for their siblings! And if she could, Brick knew she would choose _Dexter_. The notion felt like a freezing blight spreading across his chest, catching in his throat and refusing to break.

How did… How did Dan deal with this? Sure, certain things were different in his and Joseph’s situation, but it must have been hard either way…

Brick had to talk to him. And maybe he’d bring Blossom with him as well – Joseph would be thrilled to meet her. It would be good for her.

He would think something up in the morning, when his head wasn’t thrumming with her words. For now, he’d fall asleep to the sound of rainfall, and dream. Dream of running breathlessly and hiding from gentle hands and bruises blooming across his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	30. Lunch With The Scotts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blossom meets Dan and Joseph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me WAY TOO LONG and it's the longest chapter I've written, but I sincerely hope it's worth it

That morning, Brick was acting noticeably cold. During breakfast, he rose from his chair mid-meal and excused himself to the bathroom to make a call. At first, Blossom didn’t think much of it – they respected each other’s privacy enough to not question things like that. But then, he stayed for an awkwardly long time there. By the time he came back out, she’d already finished the mac and cheese he’d prepared. His lips were downturned to a serious scowl, and his fingers were intertwined under his chin when he sat back down, across from her.

“Is something wrong…?” Blossom asked as she lowered her fork.

He shook his head. “No, no. I just… I have something to tell you.”

She felt her heart rate rise up. “Yeah?” she beckoned, equally curious and worried.

Her thoughts went back to last night, most of which she didn’t remember. Curse her intolerance for alcohol. Had she done something? Did she embarrass herself somehow? Worse – did she embarrass them both?

Blossom noticed him swallow thickly before he spoke, like what he had to say tasted foul.

“I want you to meet somebody.”

Not sure whether she should be relieved, she tilted her head to the side. “Okay…?”

Brick stood again and gathered their dishes, putting them in the sink. Reluctance still colored his voice. “I originally didn’t plan on introducing you to them. Like, ever. But then all this other stuff happened, and…”

He trailed off, leaving Blossom to wonder what else was he going to say. It felt strange – he was usually the type to tell it how it is. To see him lose the nerve made her question what was so serious that he couldn’t find the words. She stared at his back while he washed the dishes, opting to stay quiet. If he wanted to tell her more, she guessed he would.

Apparently, she was right.

“Dan and Joseph invited us over for lunch,” Brick sighed, turning the tap off. “We can pick up Buzz from Robin’s, go to the supermarket to pick some stuff up, and then go.”

The corners of his lips curled up calmly when he turned around to face her again. “What do you say?”

Blossom pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands under the table. “Sure, but what do we need to go to the store for?”

Sniffing a laugh, Brick ambled to the closet room to fish out his jacket. “Dan asked me to pick up some ingredients for his special dessert.”

Guessing he wouldn’t tell her what the dessert was, Blossom wheeled over to her bedroom for a change of clothes. She threw on the hoodie he’d given her, finding comfort in the smooth material’s cinnamon-like scent. Minutes later, he was ready, and they were good to go.

* * *

Parting with Robin was a troublesome endeavor for both herself and Buzz, but it had to be done. The temporary dog-sitter would have let them stay for coffee, if it weren’t for her blond… _companion_ exiting her room in a pair of sweatpants, making for a gawky goodbye. Blossom shot her friend a meaningful look, while Brick struggled to hold in his laughter. Having dragged Buzz out of her apartment, the duo plus Buzz were on their way to the nearest supermarket. Much to the dog’s chagrin, the store didn’t allow pets inside, so he had to stay in the car.

Thankfully, supermarkets generally weren’t very crowded on Sundays. This meant she wouldn’t have to squeeze between people and shelves just trying to go around. Once they were inside, Blossom told him she’d move by herself, letting Brick walk in front of her. He assured her that he could carry the groceries and push her at the same time, but she insisted, and he complied.

“Is there anything I could help you with?” Blossom asked.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“But I want to!” She pleaded, shooting him that million-dollar smile he couldn’t say “no” to.

Brick laughed. “Alright, um…” For a moment, chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I need to get the right flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla extract. We still need about six apples and three lemons – could you get those for me, please?”

“Sure!” She piped up. “Meet you at the register?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, and they parted ways.

Blossom had no trouble finding her way around, even though she’d never been to this supermarket, since it was on the opposite side of the city. Still, a sense of discomfort overcame her as she examined each apple before putting it in the bag. That’s when she felt like someone was watching her. Slowing down, she listened carefully, and over the annoying radio music every supermarket had, she could hear faint whispering. Feminine, quiet…

“How brave of her,” one voice whispered.

“Is she here alone?” another murmured.

“No, I think that’s her boyfriend over in the baking aisle,” the first one answered, “But still, isn’t it inspiring? Going around all on her own?”

“Yeah, very inspiring,” that second one agreed, “I can’t imagine how she must feel.”

“Exactly!” The first one heightened their pitch with excitement.

Blossom came to realize that whoever they were, they were talking about her. Turning around to meet the gossips’ faces, she found that they were two employees. Her eyebrows scrunched up in befuddlement. Inspiring? What was that supposed to mean? Brave for what? The questions definitely did _not_ help soothe her building hangover-headache, so she put them somewhere in the back of her mind for later consideration, despite her perplexed curiosity.

She met up with Brick at the register, sharply dodging the open stare of the cashier. The young man wasn’t at fault for his coworkers’ behavior, so she stayed quiet. Brick took notice as they went back to the car with their groceries.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Hm?” she said distantly, then added, “Oh, yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry.”

Brick didn’t read much into it, opting to smile in order to shift the suspicious mood. “Not gonna lie, I kind of can’t wait for you to meet them.”

“Dan?” Blossom asked. “They’re non-binary?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, loading the bags into the trunk. “Dan and Joseph.”

She wheeled over to the passenger side so he could help her get in. “Oh. And who are they?”

Picking her up carefully, he waited to get into the driver’s seat to respond half-jokingly. “I’ll let you ask them that yourself.”

Even though she’d picked up on something sour in his voice, Blossom decided not to press the matter, letting him put the car into ignition and drive toward the east downtown.

She could hear Buzz’s tail thumping against the back seat as it wagged. When they reached a crossroads, the dog all but jumped around, earning himself a loud scold from Brick. Laughing at his shenanigans, Blossom knew that, judging by his behavior, Dan and Joseph must have been good.

* * *

The car came to a stop at the very end of the road, in front of an ochre house. It matched the rest of the houses in the neighborhood – a simple, craftsman-style house with a wide front yard and two parking spaces in front of the garage. The low, white fence surrounding it reminded her of cottages and home. Yellow flowers were planted in neat rows next to it, clearly tended to regularly. But what surprised Blossom the most was the porch, to which one could get using the steps or a low ramp next to them. If she could describe the place in a single phrase, it would be “something out of her childhood dreams”, when the little girl inside her played housewife.

Her reverie was interrupted by Brick, who drew out a long honk of the car’s horn. He shortly explained that he didn’t have the key to the gate, so Dan would have to come out and open it. Blossom watched a tall, lanky man exit the front door, his brown pony-tailed hair bouncing behind him as he sprinted to the gate. Not much older than Brick, but certainly looking worse-for-wear. He gave the two of them a quick grin before pulling the gate open.

“That’s Dan,” Brick pointed out when he noticed her staring. He drove slowly into the left parking space, closer to the front of the house.

Dan hurried to close the gate, smiling all the way to the car. Brick got out, opening the door for the excitable dog to jump out and prance around the front yard. He greeted Dan with a hug and a pat on the back.

“Put some meat on ‘em bones, Danny-boy,” he laughed.

“Put some brain in that meat, bitchy Brick,” the brunet joked back, the grin never leaving his face. “Need any help?”

“Nah, you just take out the wheelchair and the groceries. I’ll get Icy.” Brick walked around the back to get to her side.

Walking back to the trunk, Dan planted his hands on his hips. “Who’s Icy?”

As he picked her up in his classic bridal style, Blossom waved her hand in acknowledgement, imitating his wide grin. “It’s me!”

Abandoning his spot at the back of the car, he walked towards them, giving Blossom’s hand the tiniest kiss. A hint of stubble felt scratchy against her knuckles.

“Ah, pleased to meet you!” He said, and Blossom noted how similar his face looked to Brick’s. “You must be the Blossom Utonium I’ve been hearing so much about these days.”

She didn’t understand the smirk he’d sent Brick’s way, but she nodded anyways. Dan continued, “My name is Daniel Scott, but friends call me Dan!”

Brick rolled his eyes with a sigh. “And I’m Brick Aiden Jojo, friends call me Hothead. Great, now that we all know each other, could you _please_ get the wheelchair out, Dan?”

“Alright, alright, what’s the rush?” The brunet man chuckled while opening the trunk.

After a giggle at his sarcasm, she hit Brick’s chest with the lightest punch. “Are you calling me fat?”

“No, darling, he’s just jealous,” Dan waved her question off with a teasing tone to his squeaky voice.

Her shoulder felt the rumbling growl Brick produced through his chest. “Fuck off.”

Another punch to his pec. “ _Language!_ ” Blossom warned.

That warranted a loud cackle from the brunet man as he rolled her unfolded wheelchair over to them. “It’s useless, Blossom, he never learns. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Brick groaned, setting her down in her seat. “Oh shut up.”

Blossom’s eyebrows curiously hid under her bangs. “You’ve tried? How long have you two known each other?”

The trio moved up the concrete ramp. Dan carried the bags of groceries with his hands in his pockets. “Hm, I’ve lost track. Probably for the better part of three years, isn’t it, Brick?”

“Tch, you’re asking me that like you’re some old man or something.” Brick shrugged.

Dan threw his head back. “Well, I am nearing my forties.”

Blossom’s almost choked on air. Forties?! He looked twenty-five, at most!

Brick moved aside when Dan opened the door for them to pass through. “You started work when I was in senior year, so you’re a little off. Two years.”

He sighed. “Ah, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, kid.”

She couldn’t see it, but she just _knew_ Brick was rolling his eyes. “Don’t call me kid.”

“Sure thing, _kid,_ ” Dan jeered, and they entered the living room area.

Like the rest of the house, the craftsman lodge looked more comfortable than anything. The wide, open space the living room was set in made the outside seem like a setup, too small to fit the inside. Two couches and a rocking chair were set in front of the flat-screen TV, brown, to match the accent wall made of wooden planks. Behind the accent wall she could see a chair, meaning that the dining room must’ve been there. The distinct sound of wheels rolling across the chestnut floors drew their attention to the hall on the left. Blossom’s eyes widened and she looked up at Brick, only to find him offering a reassuring smile.

“Joseph, are you done?” Dan called out, then covered his mouth to quickly whisper conspiratorially, “Ever since I told him you’d be coming over, he spent the whole morning getting ready. Something about looking ‘presentable’, whatever that means.”

“Yes! And I’m not deaf yet, Danny-boy!” A gruff voice sounded from the hall, until another figure emerged.

A man who Blossom would estimate was in his sixties rounded the corner in a wheelchair, dressed in a shirt much too formal for the occasion with a sweater over it. His welcoming smile missed a front tooth, but it was too kind for the astonished Blossom to notice. He wheeled over to them, extending a wrinkled, calloused hand to her.

“Sorry I’m late, but I hope our lady will forgive,” the old man repeated the same motion Dan had made before, and Blossom nodded.

“Blossom Utonium,” she introduced herself this time, shaking herself out of her shock. “Nice to meet you!”

The man looked her up and down, and sent an acknowledging glance toward Brick. “He’s told me a lot about you, don’t you worry, dearie.”

Brick shuddered so strongly, his cap nearly flew from his head. “Joseph!”

The man – Joseph – slapped his knee. “Oh, I’d say I’m joking to stop his tantrum, but that’d be a lie, now wouldn’t it?”

Blossom’s face flushed as brightly as Brick’s, and they were left speechless. Dan and Joseph left the joke to simmer.

“Truths aside,” Joseph said, “I would like to speak to you in private, Miss Utonium. That is, if you’re okay with that.”

Blossom’s eyes searched for Brick’s, not sure whether she was checking with him or asking for permission. Then, she caught herself – Brick wouldn’t have brought her here if he didn’t trust these people. He put a hand on her shoulder. _You can go if you want to._

She instantly relaxed. “Of course!”

Following Joseph into the hall, the last thing she heard was Dan asking Brick for some help in the kitchen.

* * *

The two wheelchair users wheeled through a sliding door that led out to a balcony in the backyard. Far from them, in the corner of the fence, was an enormous oak tree. Given last night’s weather that Brick had told her about, the thin air still smelled of rain and fog. Blossom curled into her hoodie, folding the sleeves over her hands. She observed as Joseph made himself comfortable, folding his arms.

“Aren’t you cold, sir?” She asked with a tilt of her head to one side.

Joseph gave her smile bright enough to warm her up. “Don’t you worry, Miss Utonium.”

“Oh no, please, just Blossom,” she lifted a hand in a “stop” motion.

They watched as Buzz dashed over the backyard, stopping at every other fencepost, before continuing his crazy run. They laughed when he got so carried away that he hit his head on the tree, shook it off, and kept running.

“Man, he sure is a wild one,” Blossom giggled with a dainty hand over her lips.

Joseph shook his head. “I keep telling Brick, he should visit more often. He can’t keep such a big dog in a cramped little apartment.”

She stared down at her knees. “Sir, how do you and Brick know each other?”

His forehead wrinkled as he raised his eyebrows at her in a questioning stare. “Oh, he hasn’t told you?”

Shaking her head, she fiddled with her fingers. “No. To be honest, I didn’t know you or Dan existed until today.”

He nodded slowly. “And he’s been your caregiver, for how long?”

She looked up at him. “Two weeks.”

“Ah.” Joseph scratched a point behind his ear, trying to figure out what to say. “Well, I’m afraid it’s not really my story to tell. No offense, but as much as he’d told me about you, I can’t say I trust you yet. And frankly, I don’t think he’d like it if anyone but him were to tell you.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “I feel like he doesn’t trust me, either.”

Having finished his sweep of the yard, Buzz came running to them, panting and resting his head on Blossom’s lap. She buried her fingers in the fur of his neck, failing to notice the downward curl of Joseph’s lips as she spoke.

“It’s weird for me, because… Because I can’t tell whether I trust him too much and he trusts me only a little, or if he doesn’t trust me at all and I trust him just enough.” Blossom got lost in petting the dog. “Do you know what I mean, Mister Joseph?”

He copied her expression, cheeks wrinkling slightly in what must’ve been dimples once. “Yeah. I used to feel like that when I was diagnosed.”

Even though she wanted to ask what his diagnosis was, Blossom felt it too personal to say, so she asked something else. “…And how did you deal with it?”

Joseph wheezed an insecure laugh. “There’s no dealing with it. It’s all a leap of faith.”

Buzz moved from her lap to Joseph’s, gratefully accepting more pets. It was then that Joseph decided to ask, “Is it true that you didn’t want to go to therapy?”

Her eyes shot up at him, wide with confusion and discomfort. Brick had told him about that. “Yeah…”

He scratched behind Buzz’s ears, and the dog looked up at her. “If I may ask, why?”

She gazed upon the horizon, tired eyes trying to find a way to explain. In the end, all that she said was, “I didn’t think I deserved it.”

His hands stopped moving, and Buzz whined in protest, moving back to her. Something about the dog’s little brown eyes brought her comfort. Joseph questioned, “Didn’t deserve it?”

“It was this… idea, in my head – that I’d disappointed the people I care about. ‘Falling from grace’ like that.” Her shoulders shivered. “I know for a fact that I’d deeply disappointed one, but it’s in the past now. I’ll be going to therapy and, hopefully, things will turn out fine.”

“Do you hope to walk again?”

His question, even though it was quiet, startled her.

Blossom inhaled, and in one breath, said, “I don’t really know whether I should. My doctor told me that if there’s no developments in the following month or so, that would be it. I’d be paraplegic.” It came out so fast, she had to take another, slower breath. “But I’m not scared of that. It’s still living, just a little differently.”

He laughed shallowly, “I agree, but you didn’t answer my question, Blossom.”

Her lips pressed together. Instead of explaining, she asked him, “Mister Joseph, have you ever been told you’re… ‘brave’ or ‘inspiring’?”

Joseph paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I have, and I don’t understand why.”

He looked her over, searching for any emotion in her face, but only finding genuine confusion. Sighing, Joseph tore his gaze away from her, and settled it far on the horizon.

“Blossom, you have to know,” he bit his cheek, “Usually, people tend to expect disabled people to be depressed, or even suicidal.”

Air caught in her throat. She couldn’t deny it, but she couldn’t accept it, either. At the start, she was sadder than ever in her life. That’s when it hit her.

“But I wasn’t sad about all…” Unable to find the appropriate word, she made an ambiguous motion of waving her hands towards her legs, “ _this!_ I was depressed about my ex-partner leaving! And not winning gold! And so many other things…”

Joseph’s face brightened as she slowed down.

“… But never about my condition.” She finished, and turned a pair of glassy eyes rimmed with tears to him. Blossom wiped them away. “I’m sorry, I just…”

He wheeled closer, putting a hand to her shoulder. “No, it’s okay. Let it out. Let yourself feel it.”

“But I shouldn’t!” She retaliated, still holding them back. “I’m causing you distress, and I’m your guest here, and-”

“And I understand how you feel.” He nodded encouragingly. “Be sad about it, but keep going. Do it for your sake, Blossom.”

His words held a truth she’d never admitted to herself. She’d set her expectations for herself so high, she couldn’t reach them. She’d held back everything she ever felt in favor of keeping others happy. And now, it all cracked through. _Do it for your sake, Blossom,_ was the droplet that made the glass overflow. So she let the tears fall quietly. Blossom felt every drop, yet somehow, couldn’t move an inch. Her hands stayed stuck in Buzz’s fur, holding him for warmth.

“How do you know?” was all she could manage to ask.

Joseph made a sympathetic smile. “Because I know that if someone let me cry about it back then, I would have cried, too.”

* * *

“You’ve changed, you know?” Dan said, slicing the apples into thin pieces.

Brick looked up at him from his crouch in front of the oven. “Changed, how?”

Arranging the pieces into the dough-covered pan, Dan shot him a glance over the shoulder. The redhead did _not_ appreciate the narrowing of his eyes. “You’re mellower. Don’t bite as much, just bark.”

“Oh, I can bite if you wanna fuckin’ go,” Brick reminded with a snarl.

“Now, now, what would _Icy_ say about that, _Hothead?_ ” Dan was treading on thin ice, but to his surprise, he only got an eye-roll in reply.

“Don’t call her that,” he said, grunting as he lifted off the red-tiled kitchen floor. Knowing where they usually kept glasses, he moved to the faucet to grab a drink of water.

“What, are the nicknames like, a straight couples’ thing I’m too ace to understand?”

Dan’s comment sent water shooting straight out of Brick’s nose. He only chuckled as Brick struggled to catch his breath.

“We’re not a couple!” He finally managed, flicking water at Joseph’s caregiver.

“I know, I know,” Dan said, opening the oven and placing the tart inside, “You’re just too much fun to tease. Always quick to flare up! You need to work on that temper, man.”

Brick leaned over the counter, tapping the marble surface nervously. “The temper is what got me into this in the first place.”

Not even bothering to shrug empathically like he usually did, Dan turned the timer and joined him by sitting on one of the three barstools. He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and lit one up. “What can I say? Was I the one who told you to punch him?”

Hands rolled into fists, Brick grimaced. “The fucker deserved it. Who says shit like that and gets away with it?”

Dan took a drag and blew the smoke above his head. “Some people are just shitty, Brick. You can’t just _punch_ everyone who makes you angry.”

Brick snorted. “Watch me.”

He laughed. “You never learn, do you?”

Walking over, Brick settled on the middle barstool, chin propped up on his hand. They talked over the phone so much that talking in person seemed strange. Especially since most of their topics of conversation were drained.

Another drag, and another puff of smoke. Dan asked, “Well, what will you do?”

Brick slouched. “What do you mean?”

“About therapy. She’s going to go, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, and?”

“What will you do?”

He furrowed his brow. “About?”

“About your deal. You’re back with the Rottweilers in almost two months, right?” Dan explained.

“Yeah, and?”

Annoyed by how he had to spell it out for him, Dan extinguished his cigarette in the tray. “You told me there’s a chance she might walk again in the following month, if all goes well. What are you going to do if she doesn’t?”

The answer was a simple, gruff, and non-disputable, “I’d stay with her.”

Dan raised his thin eyebrows, intrigued. “Well aren’t you quick to answer.”

Brick’s leg fidgeted. “I thought about that last night.”

One of Dan’s eyebrows stayed up. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. But let’s take another angle – what would you do if she did?”

The turn of that question sent Brick reeling, but Dan took his silence for misunderstanding.

“Think about it – you live with her because you’re her caregiver. About a month left with her, if she stands by the end of May. After that, she won’t need you. There goes you and Buzz’s temporary home, your steady source of income, _and_ your companionship with her, if that’s what you’d call it.”

Brick’s train of thought followed exactly what he’d described. It all led to the fact that he would have to leave, both because of hockey and because she wouldn’t need him around any longer. The fact that they’d eventually drift apart bothered him. Yet Brick would gladly walk away, if it meant she could walk again. He thought up the quickest semblance of an answer he could.

“By then, I’d have enough money to pay Nancy back and move out.” He tugged on his fringe, hoping to anything his voice was not shaky. “So yeah, I’d do that, find a part-time job somewhere, and wait for June.”

Dan’s eyes softened. “You _do_ know you can ask us for help any time.”

Tucking back the strand, Brick laughed. “What do I look like, some freeloader?”

A hand on his shoulder caught him off-guard. “It’s not free-loading if we’re family, man.”

The sentence made Brick brush his hand away uncomfortably. “I know.”

* * *

The tears finally stopped, and even though she hated the shivery quality of her voice, Blossom mustered the courage to ask, “Mister Joseph, is it okay if I ask you how you…”

“Fell?” Joseph finished her question, noticing she was at a loss for words once more. “Yeah, I fell.”

Her eyebrows rose under her bangs. “Fell… how?”

He sighed, resting his interlaced hands over his stomach. “I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you, since I know the same about you. But you have to promise you won’t tell Brick I told you, okay?”

This furthered her curiosity, and she nodded her head. “Okay. I promise.”

Like a child, the old man extended a pinky finger. Smiling, she linked her pinky with his.

Retracting his hand, Joseph seemed to gather his thoughts. “It happened two years ago. I was assistant coach for the Metroville Mammoths. Loved the job, been in the NHL since the eighties, switched teams many times, yadda-yadda, unimportant. I got into an argument with a center player, Evans, and it escalated into a fight. He pushed me, I fell down the stairs to the coach office, ended up in the hospital. Herniated disc.”

He stared down at his knees. “The team never even tried to contact me. I don’t know what happened, but from what I heard, Evans might’ve had a say in that. The coach, Harvey, he begged me over and over to come back. I was a stubborn one, though. I told him I wouldn’t come back until Evans apologized to me in person. I waited for that to happen, but it never did. While waiting, I never went to any therapies, never got any help, nothing. Ended up with CES.”

Joseph looked up at her when she gasped. Warm, brown eyes gave her a smile, and Blossom was conflicted.

“Are you alright, dearie?” he asked.

“No, I’m alright, I’m just shocked!” Blossom threw her hands up. “How could you let the actions of one meaningless person stop you from doing what you love?”

In that moment, Brick’s words rushed back to her, and the meaning felt so foreign in her mouth. What he said made sense. Her eyes went wide with realization.

Joseph kept smiling. “Like I said, I was a stubborn one. But let me tell you, Blossom…”

She observed as he pointed a finger up, lecture-like. “If I had the chance to stand again, like you do… If I had the chance to do what I love again, as you put it, I wouldn’t miss it for the life of me.”

Buzz, who had his head in her lap for a while, pawed at her legs to get her attention. Then, he abruptly stopped, turning to the sliding door behind them. The sound of footsteps made her and Joseph turn as well. Seconds later, Brick poked his head from behind it.

“Lunch’s ready,” he announced, oblivious to the thankful glance Blossom sent in Joseph’s direction.

* * *

When they were done with lunch, the time flew by so fast, they almost didn’t notice the clock striking five. Although their hosts insisted they stay, Brick and Blossom decided it was time to go, and let Dan and Joseph see them out.

Once they’ve said their goodbyes, Brick drove away, smirking as Blossom waved at them until they were out of sight.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, eyes fixated on the road.

Blossom ran a hand through her hair. “They’re incredible!” she gushed, “Dan is hilarious! And Joseph is so sweet! How could you have kept them from me all this time?!”

He grinned. “Didn’t know if you’d like them.”

She lightly slapped his shoulder. “Liar. You just wanted to keep Dan’s delicious apple tart to yourself!”

Brick laughed, “Maaaybe.”

The silence that ensued was amiable. Still, Blossom had some news to deliver.

“Brick?”

“Hm?” he replied – a humming habit he’d picked up from her.

She grinned. “I need you to help me walk again.”

His mouth parted in a quiet gasp, and jumping of his leg was all he could do to contain his excitement. He returned her smile, moving the hand on the gear shift to grasp hers. A soft squeeze.

“I’ll try my best,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	31. The Mighty Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mitch doesn't know if this is just their way of flirting or whatever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! So
> 
> since school is starting soon for me, my update schedule will definitely change, I just don't know which way. I'll probably start posting updates later, but I'll still keep contact with y'all over tumblr and try to stay at least a little active ^^ Thanks for understanding.
> 
> ANYwho, I'm starting a new fic! It's going to be a Miraculous Ladybug fantasy AU, with mystery and certain dark undertones, but nothing NSFW. Kind of a Robin Hood-esque vibe to it, and I can't wait to share it with you all :D  
> Queen of Peace, coming September 1st

“Hey, what do you want for lunch?” Butch asked from his spot by the drums, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Lunchtime had already passed, but the two of them, having caught the flow of inspiration, managed to forget to eat. It wasn’t an uncommon experience, but still a strange one: after hours of endless composing and recording, one of them would pause, and realize the pain in their stomach wasn’t one of sitting too much, but of hunger.

Buttercup was sitting on one of the barstools, headset around her neck as she wrote new lyrics. “Dunno, I feel like McDonalds,” she answered without looking up from her work.

“Uber or should I go get it?”

She shrugged. “Whatever’s easier for you.”

Butch made a show of fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Uber it is, then. What do you want?”

After a short, humorous argument over whether a Big Mac was better than a Happy Meal, the two finally settled on their orders and placed them.

Leaning back with a sigh, Butch thought that he was pretty much done. They’d already recorded the drums, all that was left was for Buttercup to write her lyrics, record the guitar and synth, and edit it all together. Honestly, he felt somewhat bad for knowing how to play just one instrument. That left her with most of the work, even though they’d agreed to split the work equally.

She was oblivious to his absorbed staring from across the room, completely engrossed in her writing. Even though she was turned away, Butch had a feeling she had that stupid face on. The one where she stuck her tongue between her teeth in deep concentration. It would have been funny if it wasn’t serious. With the way she slouched over the tabletop, her jet-black hair parted in strands, only slightly revealing the back of her neck. If he wasn’t smart, Butch could have _sworn_ that tiny bit of pale skin called out to him.

The squeaking of his teeth as he bit his piercings must’ve alerted her, because she swiftly turned around, brow furrowed questioningly. “What?” she grouched.

In a moment of brilliant thinking, Butch took one drumstick and stuck it above his upper lip, making a duck-face to keep it there like a moustache. He wiggled his eyebrows for good measure, happy to have heard her snort a laugh.

“Dumbass,” she shook her head, but he caught the hint of a smile she tried to hide with her hand.

“I thought I was Bitch?” he whined before the drumstick fell to the floor with a _clack_.

A silly roll of the eyes. “They’re not mutually exclusive, Bitch.”

“… Well if that’s the case, then you must be Smartass, too.” The cockiest expression she’d ever seen played across his face as he put his hands into his pockets.

She turned back to her paper. “And why’s that?”

“I mean, you’re smart and I call you Butts. Smartass.” He said simply.

Receiving nothing but an annoyed sigh in response, he could hear the knock at the studio door. Buttercup put a hand up as she stood from her seat, signaling she’d get it. Left to check his phone, Butch was surprised to hear a joyful screech.

“Mitch!”

“What?!” Butch yelled in reply.

“What? No, not _Bitch!_ Mitch!”

Butch got up to join her at the door, finding her in a bear-hug with their UberEats delivery man. He was comically taller than both her and him, having to awkwardly bend at the waist to hug her. He had brown hair and wore a _Nirvana_ shirt. A face full of freckles and acne scars looked at Butch from over her shoulder, backing off almost immediately. He didn’t understand why, until he felt his brows were lowered and formed a scowling grimace.

“Hey, Mitch Mitchelson,” the guy said in a surprisingly crackly voice, offering a hand for a fistbump.

Looking him in the eyes, Butch came to notice how dark his eyebags were, as if he hadn’t slept in centuries. Politely, he introduced himself, then proceeded to cross his arms as Buttercup invited him in.

“Yeah, I suppose I can stay until I get a new order or whatever,” Mitch explained as he set the McDonalds package down on the table. “This your workplace?”

“Yep,” BC said, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, be back in a minute.”

“’Kay,” Butch said, sitting back on his barstool.

After the door creaked to a close, Mitch and Butch were left in a silence neither of them knew how to break. Small talk was not an option – who cared about the weather or the news? They didn’t know each other well enough to start a conversation about anything else. Butch leaned back, dangerously close to falling off, but not caring enough to find proper balance.

“So, you’re the rebound,” Mitch said, putting the “rebound” in air quotes.

His eyebrows shot up. “No, we’re partners. Friends.”

“No, I mean about that night.”

“… You know about that?” Butch asked, lowering his voice as to not be heard by her from the other room.

Mitch seemed to get the memo, also getting quieter. “’Course I do. We’re best friends since like, kindergarten.”

He shrunk in his seat. While it didn’t bother him that Buttercup told him, Butch was afraid he’d fallen in someone’s eyes before even meeting them. It was a tricky thing. Which is why he was shocked to hear what Mitch had to say next.

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but thank you.”

His eyes grew the size of dinner plates. “Excuse me?”

Mitch stuck his hand in his mouth, chewing on a fingernail to jog his memory. “The thing with her and Ace was a mess. I told her he’s bad for her, but she was sure he would change. And then…”

He stopped. Butch held his breath, waiting for him to continue. When it was apparent that he wouldn’t, Butch motioned with his hand. “And then?”

Mitch swallowed, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just realized it’s not for me to tell you.”

Butch’s hand curled into a fist.

“Please, understand. It’d break our trust-”

“No, you’re right.” Butch interrupted and nodded. “I shouldn’t prod.”

The smallest of smiles formed on Mitch’s face. “Good. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he assured him, “If I should ever know, I’d rather she tell me herself, anyway.”

“Yeah, good point.” he nodded. “So? How’s partnership goin’ for ya?”

Butch smiled, eyes shifting to the floor. “We had a rocky start, but we’re good now.”

Mitch’s head rested in his hands as he slouched over his knees in the barstool. “From what I can hear, you’re on a path to becoming good friends, I think.”

Butch snickered. “I guess. You two are already best friends, I can tell.”

“Seventeen years and counting.” Mitch laughed. “How’s the album going? Think you two can put me onto some new stuff?”

Lifting his leg onto the seat, Butch scratched his neck with embarrassment. “Halfway done, we need to finish it in two weeks. I’m chill with showing you, it’s Buttercup who you should ask.”

“Ask me what?” Her presence startled them, though she acted casually, wiping her hands on her jean jacket.

Butch assumed she hadn’t heard the conversation from before. Scratch that, _hoped_ she didn’t. “Mitch wanted to hear some of our shit.”

“FUCK no!” She nudged Mitch jokingly.

Mitch play-whined, “Aw, come oooon! I was _such_ a good boy, daddy!” and it sent Buttercup wheezing. She somehow managed to push his head down enough to catch him in a noogie.

Butch felt his face lighting up and looked at them as if Mitch had just proclaimed the Earth was flat. The two exchanged a glance that indicated they knew something he didn’t.

“Inside joke, you wouldn’t get it,” Buttercup waved him off, approaching the table.

An odd pang resounded in Bitch’s chest. Right, best friend things.

“Alright, where’s my Happy Meal?” He said more to himself than either of them, shuffling around the bag.

Buttercup snorted, “What, a Big Mac too big for your baby mouth?”

“Shut the fuck up, you’ve got a mouth big enough for the both of us,” Butch rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of me not giving a fuck,” Buttercup joined him in looking around the bag for her food.

“What’s that sound?” Butch laughed.

He finally fished out his Happy Meal, only to drop it to the table, trying to cover his ears when Buttercup did her best impression of an ear-piercing crow screech. His fries fell in disarray over the tabletop.

“Fuck you!” he pushed her.

“Uno reverse, motherfucker!” Buttercup shoved him back, having clear advantage because she was standing.

Mitch watched with amusement obvious in his eyes, and cackled. “Is this how you guys flirt or am I missing something?”

In that moment, both their heads snapped toward him, wide-eyed stares making Mitch shudder. They immediately retracted their hands from each other.

“It’s not flirting! We’re not-” she flared up, until she noticed the devious glint in Mitch’s eye. “You little shit.”

“Payback’s a bitch!” Mitch threw his hands up, half-heartedly shielding himself.

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Payback for what?!”

“That one time you tried to set me up with Justin!”

“Dude, that was like, a year ago.”

“Still counts!” Mitch pointed a finger. “The fucker looks like he doesn’t shower and you give him my number?!”

Butch raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re gay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I forget coming out is a thing.” Mitch shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s chill.” Butch said, biting down on his cheeseburger.

Buttercup sipped on her sprite. “Smashing homophobes’ kneecaps since 2010.”

That earned her a hearty chuckle from Mitch. “So, can I _please_ hear some of your new stuff?”

“Nah,” Buttercup answered simply through a mouthful of her Big Mac.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Mitch turned to Butch. “Butch?”

“No,” Butch said, feeling Buttercup’s death-glare burning holes in his forehead.

“Oh c’mon, I even asked nicely,” Mitch banged his head against the table like a child throwing a tantrum.

Hearing him whine, Butch same up with a solution.

“Butts, maybe we can show him the cover we were working on?” He spoke through a mouthful and growled when she stole a fry from his box.

She tilted her head this way and that, considering it. “Hm, maybe. Did you set up the drums?”

“Yeah, I recorded them yesterday. How’s the guitar and synth going?”

“Still messing with the mixing program, but it’ll be good. I can still play the riffs regularly, though,” she pointed out.

Mitch clapped his hands. “Wonderful! Does that mean I get a live performance?!”

Buttercup shot him a look between a scowl and a smirk. “Lucky you, Mitch. Wait until we eat.”

He performed a little victory dance, making them nearly choke on their food with laughter.

* * *

Half an hour and a full stomach later, the two finally set up their positions, while Mitch watched. Once they were done, Butch helped Buttercup set up the mixing program properly. He sat behind the drums, she stood with her Yamaha, and Mitch made a show of sitting like a proper audience.

And they began.

Buttercup’s first notes were flawless, perfectly in time with the synth. She shook her head at the first lyrics, emphasizing Patrick’s statement stutter, and her hair fanned around her face.

At the chorus, she belted the long notes and jumped around, giving them an emotion Butch never heard they had before.

_“Your crooked love is just a pyramid scheme,_

_And I’m dizzy on dreams!_

_But if you ask me,_

_Two’s a whole lot lonelier than one…”_

Having already learned the beat, he let his arms go on autopilot, paying attention to her and her only.

The second chorus came ‘round without him even noticing, being caught up in the way she leaned back with the second long note. Did she have a fucking spine?! Just as quickly as she bent back, she straightened back up, pure energy and rhythm and…

Fuck, it was his rap part.

…

_“But even though my eyes closed, I still see you._

_I just hope that when you see me, I’m not see-through,_

_You know how we do!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj
> 
> Link to the song mentioned in the chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPc4m_DGMMM  
> (ooh the foreshadowing)


	32. Meet-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Jojo brothers have their monthly meet-up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Umm so it's official, my updating schedule has moved to random. School got in the way, but I'll at least try to be consistent about posting.
> 
> Thank you immensely for putting up with it, and for all the love and support you've given me <3
> 
> Queen of Peace is coming this Tuesday, and I'm super excited to post it :DD
> 
> Trigger warning: this chapter includes mentions of rape.

The next morning, Buttercup was awoken to the sound of her phone vibrating on the side table, threatening to fall off any moment. Thanks to her reflexes, she caught it just as it reached the edge, and yawned. She had to rub her eyes to see the caller name properly. In her bleary state, she could make out the words “Snitch Mitch is video-calling you” with his blurry contact picture (a Kermit meme) just above. She yawned again, pressing the “answer” button without checking the time. The sky outside her window was awfully light – it must’ve been around five a.m.!

“Fuck you want?” she answered, combing her hair with her fingers, still sleepy.

In contrast to her, Mitch was chipper and cheerful, sat in a dark room with his face lit up by some off-screen light. Must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“Dude, you won’t fuckin’ believe this!” he grinned, turning the camera around. Whatever screen he was pointing it to was too bright for her to discern anything.

“What?” she grumbled, desperately squinting to see.

Mitch coughed. She knew that fucking cough – he was lying about something. “Khm, right, um… Shit, I didn’t tell you guys. How about uhh- Let’s meet up today, huh? Bring Butch along, too!”

Buttercup scowled at him. Whatever – she was too tired to push it out of him, so she’d bite. “I have work today, though.”

“Well shit, Butts! What am I supposed to do?!”

“Don’t call me Butts!” she managed to let anger slip through another yawn.

Mitch’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Butch calls you Butts.”

“And I call him Bitch. End of.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” he said, much too enthusiastically for her liking, “Okay, so when are you off work?”

She slid down the clock on her phone to check the date. “It’s Monday – I’m off at six.”

“’Kay, and Butch?”

“He starts at eleven, we got time.” She shrugged.

“Good. So how’s seven at _Murphy’s_?” Mitch asked.

“Fine. I’ll text Butch about it.”

“Alright, see ya then!”

With that, he hung up, and Buttercup took another look at her phone’s clock. Five twenty – she had three hours until her shift started. Groaning, she realized falling asleep again wouldn’t be an option. As much as she’d like to, she always had trouble sleeping after being woken. Instead, she decided to indulge in a cup of coffee and a longer shower than necessary.

* * *

Brick made his way to the table after taking his usual order. The three brothers, plus Buzz, rarely got together like this, even though they’d promised to meet up at least once a month. Life got in the way, but that was what made the outings better. Resulted in more interesting stories to swap, if nothing else.

At noon, they’d met up at the _Calla Coffee Shop_ they frequented for this, took their orders, and sat in their preferred corner. The corner was preferred for no other reason than that it was far from other patrons, and that it was in the smoking area.

Sitting down, Brick noted the alarming number of cigarette butts in the ashtray. He recognized it as Butch’s “nervous puffing” as he and Boomer had dubbed it.

“Something bothering you?” Boomer nudged him as he lit up his fourth.

Butch shook his head. “Not really. Album stuff.”

“Your deadline is getting close, right?” Brick asked, taking an appreciative sip of his first coffee that day.

He nodded.

Boomer cocked his head to the side, chewing on the marshmallow his order came with. “Shouldn’t you be at the studio, then?”

“No,” Butch took a drag, “I’m done with my part. Now it’s Buttercup’s turn to finish up on the guitars and her vocals.”

Brick and Boomer didn’t understand the process, but nodded sagely anyway.

Butch looked down at his untouched chocolate cake with distaste. “I feel like shit, like I’m leaving all the work to her, y’know?”

Brick’s lips tightened into a line as he patted his dog’s head. “Yeah, I get it.”

Boomer rapped his knuckles against the glass table, voice taking on a cold tone. “Don’t feel like shit.”

His brothers turned to him, wide-eyed with confusion.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Boomer shrugged as if he were pointing out the obvious. “All three of them know their limits. They wouldn’t take on any task if they knew they couldn’t do it. Plus,” he sipped on his coffee, “BC is direct about things that bother her. If she was angry about that, she’d tell you, or you’d know in some other way.”

Butch’s eyes narrowed. Although their first altercation had nothing to do with partnership, it still left a bitter but curious spot in his mind. Then again, who’s to say he knew as much about the Utonium sisters as Boomer did?

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Trust me – I’ve lived with one long enough to know,” Boomer smiled, encouragingly punching his shoulder.

Brick stirred his coffee, checking his phone for the hundredth time that noon. Boomer took notice. “What’s up with you?”

“Hm?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something proud about the upward curl of his lips. “Oh, nothing. Today’s Blossom’s first therapy term, I took her this morning.”

“Yo, seriously!” Butch laughed, hands flying to clutch the edges of the table.

“Yep,” Brick lifted his elbow on the table, then supported his chin on his palm. “She’ll be done around one, but I keep checking for messages in case something comes up.”

“You took her to see dad the other day, right?” Boomer asked with a sip of his coffee.

Brick’s jaw clenched as he tilted his head in a so-so motion. “Yesterday, yes. I think he had a say in her change of attitude, to be honest.”

Butch raised an eyebrow. “Change of attitude?”

Brick’s gaze drifted down to his cup, staring at his reflection in the milky coffee. “She told me she wants to walk again.”

Butch’s brow furrowed strangely. “What do you mean ‘wants to walk again’? Did she not want that before?”

Boomer frowned, resting his hand on the black-haired brother’s shoulder. “Actually, yes. There was this whole thing with her ex, and-”

“And I’m going to twist that fucker’s head off,” Brick proclaimed, the grip on his cup making his brothers wonder how it wasn’t shattering in his hand. He took a hearty bite out of his cheesecake.

Trying to ease the mood, Butch tried to shoot a joke. “Listen, dude, no need to get jealous, they broke up-”

“I’m not jealous,” Brick said, a dangerous red in his eye again. “He-”

And there, he stopped himself. Although he trusted his brothers more than anyone in this world, something tugged at his heart and prevented him from blurting out his revelation. To tell them would be to not only keep it from Blossom, but let other people in on his secret, as well. Yet the rest of him was so overwhelmed with the knowledge, he felt the need to tell someone, just to let some of the weight off. No – his resolve was stronger than that.

“He’s an asshole for leaving her because of this,” he continued his sentiment, all but glaring at his cup.

Boomer picked up on his change of tone, but said nothing.

“Yeah, I agree,” Butch said, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. He didn’t pull out another one. “Just… why would anyone do something like that?”

“Same question.” Boomer propped his head up on his wrist. “From what Bubbles told me, they were a good match, too.”

Brick scoffed. “Yeah, right. If they were, the fucker wouldn’t even have _second thoughts_ about staying.”

Butch sent him a devious look. “Yeah, like you didn’t have any second thoughts.”

“I didn’t.” Brick’s hand formed a fist under his chin.

The glint had never left his eyes. From there, Boomer and Butch knew better than to push him further. A change of subject was the next obvious step. For both their sakes, Boomer put on a grin, and talked about Bubbles.

“We’re emptying out a room in the apartment,” he announced cheerfully.

“Oh, sick,” Butch said, “Are you getting any furniture yet?”

“Not yet – we wanna wait until October to make sure everything goes well.”

Brick took another bite, and spoke through a mouthful, “Reasonable. How’s she doing?”

Boomer smiled. “Bubsy’s fine. She’s still designing, even though I tell her to lay off it a little.”

“I deadass almost hugged the lights outta you right then and there,” Butch crossed his arms with a grin, “When you told us she’s pregnant.”

“Hah, c’mon, why?” Boomer laughed.

Butch shot Brick a humorously pointed glance. “This one was sure I’d knock up someone first.”

Brick smirked. “Not my fault you were the main attraction back in high school.”

“Yeah, well, I know for a fact you’ll be the first to pop the question,” Butch teased.

Nearly choking on his coffee, Brick coughed. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s be real, dude,” Butch raised his hands defensively, “Boomer’s having a kid before any of us. Fuckin’ miracle, given I didn’t think he even knew how to do _it_. So might as well go for another miracle and get you married. It’d be cool!”

Boomer nodded, “Yeah,” and then it hit him, “Hey!” and then he swatted Butch’s arm, eliciting a round of giggles.

If he could roll his eyes three-sixty, Brick would have done it now. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. Who would I even marry?”

“Oh, that’s easy. You’d marry-”

It must’ve been Butch’s pure, dumb luck that his phone rang out a text notification and interrupted him. His eyebrows reached his hairline when he read the sender. Buttercup.

_hey you wanna get pizza at Murphy’s around 7?_

Read Monday, 12:09 p.m.

Boomer looked over his shoulder, then sent him a funny glance. “Speaking of miracles…”

“Fuck right off,” Butch muttered, but then stared down at his phone. “This is weird.”

“What is?” Brick asked.

“Butts invited me out for pizza.”

Brick stifled a laugh. “What’s weird about getting pizza?”

“Dude,” Butch threw his arms wide to imply his shock, “We don’t hang out outside of the studio! Like, at all!”

Boomer shrugged. “So what?”

“ _So,_ I don’t fuckin’ know what to do!”

“Literally just say yes. What could go wrong?” Brick assured him.

Butch snorted. “Pfft, that’s a list I can’t even start.”

Boomer rolled his eyes. “If you don’t text her back, she might get mad.”

“Fuck you!” Butch shouted, rushing to type out a response. Who knew whether Boomer was right?

_sure, c u then_

Received Monday, 12:11 p.m.

As soon as he sent it, Brick swiftly stood from his seat. “Shit! I have to go!”

“Did something come up?” Boomer asked, pouting.

“I just remembered I need to meet up with Nancy,” Brick said, slapping his forehead and collecting his things from the table.

“Nancy the Horrifying Landlord?” Butch snorted.

“Yep. Still owe her for all the shit this dumbass ruined,” Brick explained.

As if understanding that he was the topic, Buzz lifted his head from the ground and whimpered, offended. The triplets laughed, and Brick said his goodbye, leaving behind him an empty coffee cup and a clean plate. He briefly stopped at the shop counter, and the other two watched him with interest.

“What’s he doing?” Butch asked Boomer in a whisper.

Boomer offered a knowing smile. “He’s getting cake to go.”

“But he just had cake!”

His brother nudged him as Brick took the plastic container from the cashier and paid. “It’s not for him.”

“Man, what are you-” Butch began, and then, “ _Oh._ ”

Boomer sipped on his coffee. “‘Oh’, indeed.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as Butch chowed down on what remained of his own cake. Then…

“Be careful with Buttercup,” Boomer said.

Butch looked up from his dessert, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, ‘be careful’?”

He locked eyes over his cup. “You don’t know, do you?”

Butch shook his head.

A heavy sigh. “Buttercup was raped,” Boomer murmured only loud enough for him to hear.

Butch narrowed his eyes at him venomously. “By her ex?”

“Ah, so you know.”

“I didn’t. I just guessed. Had the shitty luck to meet the bastard.” Butch put down his fork. “But I wanted _her_ to tell me.”

Boomer stirred what was left of his coffee. “I think it’s important for you to know.”

He openly glared at the blond. “Why?”

A groan. “Butch, you know how you get. I’m not saying _you_ would do something, but you get insensitive with your humor from time to time. And I don’t want her to get hurt by it.”

Although there was a hint of truth in his statement, Butch couldn’t help the spike of offense he felt. Still, Boomer was somewhat right to warn him.

“I won’t tell you anything else, since I believe it’s up to her to talk about any details, _if_ she even decides to. I just don’t want her hurt.”

Butch snarled. “Neither do-”

“You said you met Ace?” Boomer interrupted.

He gulped. “Yeah.”

“And…?”

“Ugly little fucker. He…” Butch thought carefully over his following words. “He tried to get to her. I punched him in the gut.”

He purposefully omitted the whole “rebound” thing, since Buttercup seemed to have gotten over that.

Boomer smirked. “Same ol’ Butch.”

He ignored the comment in favor of finishing his cake.

“Good call, though.” Boomer patted him on the back.

Butch growled. “Now I wish I’d punched him harder. Maybe break a finger or two. See if he tries again.”

Boomer snickered. “What did she say about that?”

He wasn’t sure what to answer, so he took a moment to think.

“She was… angry at me,” he managed, slowly.

Boomer’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“I mean, yeah, but we’re good now, so I won’t bring it up.” Butch shrugged. “I just don’t get why.”

Staring at the table, Boomer pursed his lips. “I’d tell you to talk that out, but I know Buttercup wouldn’t like that much.”

He nodded in agreement.

Boomer looked at him proudly. “Be careful with her.”

Butch stared back, still unsure what he meant by that, but said “yes” anyway.

* * *

Seven p.m. rolled around, and after he’d picked her up from her place, they rode to _Murphy’s_. Butch let her have the AUX cord. She’d explained to him that Mitch had called them over to show them something, and they laid out theories about what it could be.

As they entered the pizzeria, Mitch waved them over from one of the seats in the back. Shrugging at each other, the two joined him.

“What’s up?” Buttercup greeted, noticing him huddled up behind his laptop.

Mitch grinned, scratching the back of his head. “Hey, uhhh. Khm, you might wanna sit down.”

They did as he said.

He cracked his knuckles. “So, um. Your cover may or may not have gone viral…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	33. Mitch At Murphy's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mitch hacked into YTR and reports his legal findings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is where I can officially say, from here on out, the pining gets worse
> 
> Thank you for your support <3

Buttercup took a deep, steadying breath.

“Mitch, full offense, what the FUCK did you do?!” She stood from her seat.

If it weren’t for the lack of other patrons sitting around, this would’ve been a scene by now. _Murphy’s_ wasn’t a popular hangout spot at the mall, even though they had what Mitch classified as “exceptional pizza” (and what Buttercup called a “rat-infested kitchen” from experience).

Butch’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, watching her lash out like that. She leaned over the table, pointing a threatening fist at Mitch. He seemed unbothered, only raising a hand to indicate some semblance of defensiveness.

“Calm down,” he merely spoke, watching her sit again.

“Calm down?! You’ll get us disqualified!” Buttercup yelled again.

“Just chill, I’ll explain everything. See, Butch is taking this pretty well!” he pointed out.

Huffing, she crossed her arms. “Probably because he doesn’t get what the fuck is going on.”

“Hey!” Butch nudged her. “I’m pissed off, too, you know!”

“You won’t be in a minute.” Mitch said calmly, ordering a large pizza from the waitress that rushed over minutes later. He took a large gulp of his _Monster_ and laced his fingers afterwards. “So, I recorded you while you showed me your cover.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Buttercup sneered.

“ _And_ I didn’t plan on posting it at first, mind you. I did my fuckin’ research, BC.” He coughed, tapping away at the laptop in front of him before turning it around to face them. “So I kinda, maybe, sort of, hacked into the YTR database to check something. Take a look at this.”

Before joining Buttercup in leaning forward, Butch let his jaw drop at the fact that he was a hacker. Then, he and Buttercup eyed the screen suspiciously. It was a .pdf file, with long paragraphs of pointers, looking like some legal document. Something about it was familiar, but Butch couldn’t quite place it. Buttercup’s eyes flashed from the screen back to Mitch.

“And what’s this?”

“What you’re looking at is the latest update of the official contract contestants sign to enter the yearly music contest you’re in.” Mitch scratched his neck as if this were old news. “They only print a limited amount of these, and don’t let anyone who won’t enter see it. It’s four pages long, including both your rights as the contestant _and_ the rules of the contest.”

“We’ve read these, though.” Butch interjected. “They even sent us an e-mail to remind us of the rules!”

Mitch raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Did they remind you of your rights?”

They froze, then glanced at each other cautiously. Neither could remember any of the e-mails mentioning what he said. As if he’d soaked up all the wisdom of the world, Mitch took another sip of his energy drink.

“To cut the story short, you won’t be disqualified for the cover I posted.” He shrugged. “You, both as contestants and musicians, hold the right to post content and gain a following through social media. Hell, it’s even encouraged.”

“That makes no sense,” Buttercup interjected.

“It does, though.” Mitch twirled the can in his hands. “It’s somewhat already _expected_ of you to have any forms of social media as artists, whether it’s a public or private account. It’d be dumb to ignore that as a platform for promotion, especially since the entire music industry tends to use it these days. People post covers all the time to get a following before posting original content, it’s a beginner’s tactic. YTR knows this, so it only makes sense to let people use it.”

“I sense a ‘but’ incoming…” Butch propped his elbows up onto the table. It earned him a half-hearted laugh.

“ _But_ , for the duration of the contest, you must not post any original music that will be included in your album. Covers are allowed, but nothing of your own creation. This also includes self-promo in the forms of concept art and album-related photoshoots.” Mitch whined with disappointment when he threw his can back and realized it was empty. “Just last year, two pairs of contestants were disqualified for posting original music videos on YouTube before the albums were released at the end of the month.”

“Damn,” Butch muttered under his breath.

“Yep,” he nodded, moving his laptop out of the way for the waitress to set down their pizza. Cheese held on in threads as he pulled a piece away and brought it to his mouth. “It’s a tiny loophole, but a useful one. People get so caught up in rules that they forget ‘artistic freedom’, if that’s what you’d call it.”

“And what’s all this viral shit you said?” Buttercup asked, taking a piece for herself.

“Hashtag ‘mightyfall’.” Her friend groaned, rolling his shoulders to pull his laptop up again. “Seriously, BC, I keep telling you – you need to be more active on social media. Keep up with the times, ya know.”

“Man, fuck your times and show me the video,” she said, taking a bite and dragging away the slice to get rid of the cheese.

“It’s literally the second trending tag on Twitter, right under #devy.” He typed away until he got to his own post. “Here.”

Without headphones, the sound was fairly loud when it blasted through the laptop’s speaker. They watched the performance in awe, as if they forgot they’d done that. Buttercup’s lips parted when she heard her own voice belt out the note she was particularly insecure about. Butch’s eyes never wandered from her figure, oozing confidence and talent with every move. At the end, her gaze dipped to the number of views, and she choked on her slice of pizza. Mitch took notice, and smirked.

“Just over two million views, in _one night_.” He crossed his arms. “You’re welcome.”

She threw her hands up. “I could LITERALLY kiss you right now!”

“Ew, no,” he scrunched up his nose. “Butch could, though.”

“Dude, no joke, I fuckin’ would!” He laughed. “How the fuck do we thank you?!”

Mitch’s phone beeped in his back pocket and, upon checking the message, he began to pack his things up quickly. “Uh, yeah, whatever. Gotta go. Pay for the pizza and get me champagne when you win.”

“Heh, yeah, _if_ we win.” Buttercup laughed at his confidence.

Mitch took another slice, stuffed it in his mouth, and rushed to the door. “You might, if you get a bigger following. Post a thing or two, just make sure it’s not making it onto the album.”

Just before he got out, Butch shouted, “But wait, does that mean we have to record another cover for the album?”

“No! Covers can be posted!”

With that, the door slammed behind him, and the two were left in a stunned silence.

“Butts.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re fuckin’ famous.”

“Uh-huh.”

He stood from his seat. “We gotta celebrate this!”

Buttercup cackled. “No way.”

“Why?!” He whined as he sat back down, picking up a slice of pizza for comfort.

She followed his action. “We shouldn’t celebrate until the whole album’s finished. I don’t half-ass anything.”

Butch tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment. “Good point.”

“I know,” she jokingly shrugged and took a bite of her pizza.

“So, how are we gonna celebrate?”

Her mouth quirked to one side. “Dunno. I’m not big on that kind of stuff.”

He smirked. “We should go out to _Joker’s_.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled back. “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, Butts.”

Looking up to his eyes, she found that he was, indeed, not joking. “Oh.”

He raised his slice up to her as if it were a glass of wine for her to clink. “What do you say? We get drinks, go off the shits and let loose.”

Buttercup mulled over it carefully. Letting loose _did_ sound nice, with all the stress this album had given them. Plus, it has been a while since she’d gone out to a club. It would be a change of scene from bars and cafés she usually went to. _Joker’s_ was a hole in the wall, but maybe that was exactly what she needed to use as an outlet. After a few drinks, she wouldn’t even notice the stink or the mind-numbingly loud bass.

Thus, she met her slice with his, grinning. “Sure.”

Her grin gave way to laughter when he nearly leapt up from his chair. “HELL YEAH!”

“ _But_ we need to finish the album first,” she pointed a finger as a reminder.

Butch pouted. “Buzzkill.”

Buttercup sneered through her slice. “Bastard.”

“Bruh.”

“Bitch.”

He sniffed a laugh – she’d run out of insults. “Butts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	34. Trying Not To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick strikes a deal with Blossom, and Butch gets food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i warned you about the pining, bro
> 
> no joke, this one took so long because I was never satisfied with the way I wrote the reds, so I hope this does it
> 
> on a much more positive note, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT <333

Generally speaking, afternoons at Blossom’s apartment weren’t eventful. Ever since she’d started her therapy a week ago, she’d come back from the clinic too tired to do anything but sit and read in the living room, except for the couple times Brick had gotten her to come along when he took Buzz for a walk. By Friday, her bookshelf was void of unread titles, so she resigned to using her tablet. To be frank, she quite enjoyed lazing around on the couch and watching Brick either fumble with his gaming setup or cook up dinner.

Which is why her current arrangement mildly annoyed her.

“Hold on tight, Icy.”

“ _You_ are the one holding _me!_ ”

“Keep your feet on mine!”

“Brick, I swear to god, if you drop me–”

“I’m _not_ going to drop you if you hold on!”

Buzz tilted his head to the side, one ear up in curiosity as he watched his strange humans.

From the door to Blossom’s room to the front door of the apartment was a long space acting as a pseudo-hall next to the living room. Brick was standing and holding her up by the waist, her feet aligned over his own as he tried to walk stiffly from one end to the other. Her hands had a death-grip on his wrists where he held her, pressed up against him as he moved. The position was odd for multiple reasons, Brick’s most hilarious one being the realization that she was incredibly short – just barely reaching his shoulder. She was light enough for him to carry effortlessly, but that wouldn’t have been a problem anyway, given his physique.

“D’you feel anything?” He asked, his chin uncomfortably mashed on the top of her head in an attempt to hold her more securely.

“ _I feel you crushing me with your fucking arms!_ ” she shouted.

If it weren’t for his jaw being held up by her head, he would’ve laughed at her cursing. He was such a bad influence. Brick took another sliding step.

“I’m gonna fall, I’m gonna fall, _I’mgonnafall,_ ” Blossom sputtered, her nails digging into his forearms.

“You’re not gonna fall, woman!” He assured with a shout of his own. “If you fall, I’ll catch you!”

“You’ll fall on top of me is what you’ll do, this isn’t working!”

She could feel his chest rumbling against her shoulder-blades as he groaned. “So you don’t feel anything?”

“No!”

With a disappointed sigh, Brick stumbled over to the couch and let her sit back down. Her hair swished as she shook her head at him.

“That’s not how this works, Hothead. I can’t just pretend to walk until I do!”

Rolling his eyes, he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was right. Still, a pang resounded in his chest at the reminder they still had a month’s time. Brick had made a promise, but it was one he wasn’t sure he could keep. His mind flew back to what Dan had told him.

As he looked at her again, his eyes narrowed softly, struggling to put on a mask of offense.

“Not with that attitude, you can’t,” he joked, poking her nose with a finger and watching her brows scrunch up at the gesture.

“Hey!” She batted his hand away.

Crossing his arms, Brick made his way back to the kitchen, asking her what she’d like for dinner. After a short bout of bickering over whether he should make grilled cheese or spaghetti, they agreed on the latter, and he got to work while she busied herself with watching TV. More for the sake of noise-making, the TV was put on to some quiz show, and Blossom watched it half-heartedly as she stroked Buzz’s fur.

The host asked in his overly cheerful voice, “What is the name of the main antagonist Sid Philips’s little sister in the movie _Toy Story?_ Is it A) Lizzie; B) Joy; C) Hannah; or D) Stephanie?”

“Hannah,” Brick answered without skipping a beat as he closed the fridge door.

Blossom’s head whipped around, then looked back at the screen. She waited for the contestant to answer.

“B,” she said – got it wrong, and the board with the answers lit up green around “Hannah”.

She chuckled. “How’d you know?”

“Are you kidding?” Brick scoffed, starting up the stove for the pasta. “ _Toy Story_ is a classic. My favorite movie as a kid. Hell, I even named Buzz after one of the characters.”

“Really?”

He stopped mid-mincing of an onion to turn around and gasp all-too-dramatically. “You’ve never seen _Toy Story?!_ ”

Blossom held back a laugh at his worked-up tone. “No? I was never one for kids’ movies, to be honest.”

“Not even as a kid?” He asked, mouth agape as if she’d just cursed out his entire bloodline.

She squinted at him in reply. “No…?”

Brick clasped his arms together. “That’s it, we’re gonna make you a woman of culture.”

She laughed, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “What?”

“Here’s the deal,” he pointed a finger, “If I get you to walk by the end of May, we’re having a _Toy Story_ marathon. All the movies. All of them.”

Her lips quirked to one side suspiciously. “Well, I mean, that kind of _is_ the last chance, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I don’t walk by the end of May, then I probably won’t be able to, right?” She shrugged gently.

Brick rushed to the back of the couch, leaning on the cushion. Some hopeful grin spread across his face, and Blossom took notice of a twinkle in his eye.

“By the end of April, then!”

The words rushed out before he could think, and there went another promise he wasn't sure he could keep. Still, part of him wanted her to take it seriously. He, in his entirety, wanted to make it happen.

She raised a hand over her mouth to cover a smile. “So if I walk by the end of April, we’re watching _Toy Story?_ ”

“What do you say?” Brick couldn’t help but put out his pinky for her to link with her own.

The childish action reminded her of the time she spoke with Joseph. Blossom lowered the hand from her face and linked their fingers.

“Sure.”

* * *

That week went by in a flurry of creativity and frustration in Butch’s case. Despite Boomer’s advice about letting Butts do her own thing, the guilt of being useless ate at him. He hadn’t told her about the feeling, but he knew the hours at which she occupied the studio to work on her part. So he did the next most sensible thing, and kept her company when he could.

Most times, she’d come to their workspace straight from work, put on her headset, and let herself go into her productive state. When she did that, there wasn’t much Butch could do but watch her work. He’d moved his barstool away from the table to the corner of the room as not to disturb her.

Sitting there, he’d play a mobile game or mess with a portable mixing program, stealing a curious glance at her every now and then. He’d catch her pushing her hair away from her eyes, wondering how it’d feel between his own fingers, before crushing the thought with something, _anything_ else. If she came in and complained about not having eaten at work, Butch would wait until she was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice him slip out of the studio and come back a few minutes later with food. He never let her pay him back for it – the worn-out smile she’d give him as she ate was payment enough (even though he’d never tell her that).

For lack of a better word, the two hung out at the studio. When he’d convince her to take a small break, they’d swap stories or offer advice. As quiet as it was a lot of the time, it was never boring, and Butch would only leave the studio when she did.

That Friday, Buttercup arrived at the studio later than usual – he knew because he was waiting for her at seven, and she arrived at half past seven. She stomped into the room as if the strength of her boots could crush the floor, harrumphing as she dropped her bag on the table. He watched with raised brows as her hands balled into fists and her cheeks lit up red.

“I FUCKING HATE CUSTOMER SERVICE!” Buttercup screamed, kicking the leg of the table.

Butch sat backwards in his barstool, elbows propped up on its back as he questioned. “What happened?”

She seethed, making a point of jumping into her seat with an agitated grunt. “This wine-smellin’, fake-Gucci-wearin’, Mike-Wazowski-lookin’-ass _Karen_ got pissed because a _chocolate_ donut had fucking CHOCOLATE in it!”

If his eyes could have gone any wider, they would have. “What?”

“LITERALLY!” As soon as she’d jumped onto her seat, she leapt off of it, swinging her arms angrily. “This woman, get this, _calls the fucking manager_ , and starts complaining, talking about some ‘this is unacceptable’ and ‘my husband is friends with the owner!’ _BITCH!_ ”

As she imitated the irritating customer, Butch had to conceal a laugh because of her expressions. She screwed her face up in an exasperated scowl and groaned, dropping her tense shoulders.

“I’m so fucking mad, I could set some shit on fire, I swear to- AND THIS WHOLE WEEK WAS SHITTY, TOO! Fucking _Max_ called in sick twice! I had to cover his shift and–”

His hand rested under his chin as he listened to her pissed-off rambling about things, both important and unimportant; he made sure to nod along with feigned interest whenever she looked his way in the midst of her outburst. Buttercup paced in circles while she ranted, and somewhere in the middle he drowned out the meaning of her words. The furious red of her cheeks, the low furrow of her brow, and the grabby, enraged movements of her fingers took up his attention instead.

“– _bullshit_ , and I’m pissed off and hungry and tired out of my mind! …Hey! Bitch, are you even listening?” Buttercup put her hands to her hips, before raising one and snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“’Course I am!” He shrugged with a smile. “You’re pissed off, hungry, and tired.”

She sneered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His eyebrows rose to attention. “Like what?” Then he realized. “Oh, nothing. You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Another type of red overtook her features and her shoulders snapped up. “You can’t just say shit like that, Bitch!”

“Just did.” Butch stood from his seat, slipping his hands into his pockets. “How about you get to work and I get you dinner?”

Her head dropped between her shoulders as she crossed her arms. Was that… a pout he noticed? “I still haven’t paid you back.”

He sighed, eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. I already told you – you’re not paying me back for shit.”

Climbing onto her barstool, Buttercup put some thought into it. Exhausted green irises glanced back up at him. “I feel like Thai.”

He tutted, walking to the table to pick up his jacket. “Thai it is, then. What do you want?”

“Kua Kling. Also, do you mind getting me some coffee, too?”

“Venti Macchiato, two shots of espresso?” He recited.

A moment of surprised silence encompassed them, only the shuffling of his jacket filling it. As soon as he’d put it on, he gave her another look, while she stared at him in a daze.

“What?” he asked.

“How’d you know my order?” She covered a smile with her hand.

“… I think that’s the one I got you the last two times? Did you want something else?”

“No, no,” she chuckled, her voice raspy with sleepiness, “You know me too well.”

With a satisfied and decidedly smug smile, he left the studio, making his way to his favorite Thai joint on the west side. He hadn’t stuck around to hear her low, muttered “thank you.”

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit, shit,_ was all he could think of as he ran up the stairs of the building, skipping steps. Butch took care not to let anything spill, even though he was royally pissed off. Of _course_ the elevator had to be broken and of _course_ the most popular restaurant in west uptown would be fucking packed on a Friday night. The line seemed impossibly long, but he wasn’t about to give up, even though he ended up waiting a whole damn hour. So here he was now, all but slamming open the door of the studio in hurry.

Butch slumped and wheezed against the door as he closed it. “I’m back,” he announced breathlessly, hoping to all heavens and hells the food hadn’t gone cold.

Receiving no response, he stalked from the hall into the center, and called out. “Butts?”

As he craned his head to the side, he found her, and nearly lost his shit.

Buttercup sat, top half hunched over the table, her arms folded in a makeshift pillow under her head. Her fringe stuck to her forehead as she slept.

He checked the clock – nine twenty. _Shit_. He’d stayed much longer than he intended.

Once he put the bags on the table, Butch scratched the back of his neck.

There was an odd pull in his chest, telling him to maybe lightly shake her shoulder, or to brush the hair out of her face. The opposite pull told him it would be creepy, and he listened to that one. Once again, he found himself staring at the ceiling, as if it held the answers to all his questions.

As much as he’d like to let her sleep, he knew that position couldn’t have been comfortable, and that she was still hungry. But she looked so peaceful, Butch just couldn’t find it in himself to wake her. And with the week she’s had…

One quiet groan later, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, careful not to stir her from her nap. He then proceeded to sit in his barstool on the opposite end of the room and pull out his phone, deciding to wait a little while longer. Butch would wake her in a few minutes. He needed to make sure she got enough rest first. And maybe, just maybe, he thought his jacket suited her, draped over her shoulders like that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	35. Here With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch lets go, and Buttercup holds on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter physically hurt to write AND it's around 5k, let me know if I fed y'all well, I'm curious
> 
> thank you all for the continuous support - part of me feels like i would've given up on this without it by now <333
> 
> trigger warning: this chapter includes mentions of past rape. nothing graphic, but still.

April 25th, 03:55 p.m.

They still had five days left.

They were standing in the studio, his laptop turned on atop the tall table in front of them. Three painful weeks of work later, their album was done. Twelve songs, plus “The Mighty Fall.”

The laptop’s screen displayed the e-mail they’d spent a good hour or so constructing. It contained the track list and two .zip files, including their lyric documents and the tracks themselves, respectively. The duo stared at them, scanning the message for any errors or misspellings or, god forbid, anything that sounded disrespectful.

After the fifth time she’d checked, Buttercup sighed, “This is it.”

He mimicked her. “It sure is.”

She didn’t know how to feel. It was the emptiness one felt after spending so much time working on what they love, only to find how fleeting and temporary the joy is. Buttercup guessed that she should feel proud, and she did, but only under a thick layer of tiredness and frustration. She would hold onto the songs as if they were children – wanting to let them out into the world, yet wait and cradle them close to her heart for safekeeping. Because that’s what songs were to her: an extension of herself she had a hard time letting go of. Sending one weary glance towards Butch, she wondered if he knew the feeling.

His steely eyes left the letter, softening as they met her own. And he smiled.

Her partner ghosted his knuckles over her own, asking permission to guide her hand to the keyboard. She let him.

The tips of their fingers hovered over the “Enter” button, the cursor over the “Send” button. This was it.

_Clack._

As if he were holding his breath, Butch exhaled, a smile gracing his lips once more. “Man…” was all he could say.

She understood. “Yeah.”

…

“Well then,” he clapped his hands together, then stretched them above his head, “I think we have some celebrating to do, Butts!”

“Heh, damn straight.” She put her hands to her hips. “I called in sick today, don’t tell Mary.”

“Only if you don’t tell Boss,” he said through an excited grin. “Pick you up at eleven?” He extended a fist for a fist-bump.

Her gaze flitted to his hand, the skin around her eyes crinkling with amusement. She met his fist with her own, green eyes twinkling. “Hell yeah.”

* * *

As harshly as he’d judged her for taking so long to get ready when they were going to her sister’s fashion show, Butch understood her now. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, his head began to hurt from staring at himself. With every outfit he’d tried on, he felt less and less himself, trying to look…

What?

He met his own eyes in the mirror.

Trying to look… hot? Nice? Like he didn’t care much about his appearance?

Those were the only things that came to mind, but he found himself _wanting_ to look all of those at once… for her. He didn’t get why this seemed so familiar, though. Butch knew this feeling, and scratched the back of his head trying to connect it to a memory.

Expectations crept up his spine. The need to look good, be good, _feel_ good. If his brothers were there to comment on his outfit choice, he was sure it’d be less depressing than this. More roasting, but all in good health and no hurtful intent. He comforted himself with the fact that at least his parents weren’t there to criticize it. Being alone was better than being with them, and he settled for that while he continued.

A bittersweet taste found its place in his mouth as he took off his shirt and tried on another one. Then, he walked back to the mirror, posing to find any flaws, and unhappily repeating the process all over again. Again and again, until the bitterness needed to be washed down with a can of _Monster_ and the voice in his head repeating the words “Not enough” shut the fuck up.

He pieced together some semblance of confidence to look in the mirror again.

Grey shirt tucked into black ripped jeans. If he weren’t caught in such a shitty mood, he’d tell himself he was some hot shit. A glance towards his clock told him it was too late to change his mind. He shot Buttercup a quick text as he slipped on his favorite jacket and locked the door to his apartment.

Butch hoped against hope the mood would dissipate before he reached her place. He drove in the clear night with his windows down.

* * *

Nine minutes and an elevator ride later, he was at her door. His hands stuck into his pockets, he waited.

She was worth the wait. Butch all but swooned upon seeing her.

The loose bright green crop-top she wore contrasted nicely against high-waisted black leggings, paired with combat boots. Butch couldn’t remember what people called that shiny shit girls put on their cheekbones and noses, but whatever it was, it drew his attention in the best way. Buttercup was literally glowing, and the weight in his chest increased. He hid it with a grunt of acknowledgment.

“Hey,” she nodded up at him over her shoulder, locking up. “Ready to go?”

He jingled his ring of keys. “Ready when you are.”

She lifted an eyebrow at his tone, picking up on something he was trying to hide. If she wanted to comment on it, she didn’t, choosing instead to breeze past him and toward the stairs.

“RACE YOU TO THE CAR, BITCH!”

It took him a second to get it, but when he did, oh it was _on_.

As fast as he ran, she’d already had a head start on him, so it was no wonder he found her panting by the car. Despite her heavy breathing, in the orange-tinted light of the street, she grinned up at him.

“Y’owe me a drink,” she pointed a finger. Butch laughed.

He wasn’t about to protest.

* * *

_Joker’s_ was about as filthy as Buttercup had described it. Twenty-fifth was a Saturday, and a crowded one at that. The two pushed past the people dancing to neon lights, loud music and cheap alcohol. It was a scene Buttercup wasn’t used to, he noted as they reached the bar.

The gyrating bodies around them didn’t leave many options but to be squished uncomfortably to one another in an attempt to not lose each other. Butch couldn’t tell whether his stomach was twisting from the overwhelming bass or her close proximity, but he knew it wasn’t helping his mood. Only one solution for tonight.

“Rex!” He shouted over the music to catch the bartender’s attention. The burly, bald man turned around and grinned welcomingly.

“What’ll it be?” Rex wiped a wide glass clean, beady eyes scanning him until he caught sight of Buttercup next to him, and smirked.

Without much thought, Butch wrapped an arm around her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a glare as he turned to ask her, “What do you want?”

Unperturbed by his blatant invasion of personal space, she placed her elbows on the countertop and squinted up at the list of drinks.

“Vodka,” she decided.

Butch nodded. “Same for me.”

With Rex finally turned away, Butch tested the waters for how long he could keep his arm over her until she protested. To his utter surprise, she said nothing, even beginning to sway to the music. When their drinks arrived, he made a point of checking the bottom of her glass before handing it to her. She looked at him oddly.

“Never too careful here!” He yelled.

“What?!” Buttercup shouted, leaning closer until her face was inches away.

“I said, never too careful here!” He repeated, stomping down whatever ridiculous urge rose in his chest over the insecurity.

She nodded with a smile, lifting her glass for him to clink. “To winning!”

“To winning!” He shouted back, throwing his glass back and calling Rex for a refill.

To his shock (and further amusement), she threw the glass up as strongly as he did, slamming it down on the counter with a wild cackle. Her palm came up to wipe away the drop stuck on the corner of her mouth, and his throat burned pleasantly. As it did, the weight in his chest shifted slightly.

The crowd drew them away from the bar, getting them lost on the dancefloor. Her shoulders moved to the rhythm, eyebrows furrowed as she picked the song apart for the pieces she liked. There wasn’t much to it – a simple beat, something he could whip up in minutes, but something about her movement in the flaring lights was hypnotizing. Hypnotizing, to the point that he mirrored her.

His heartbeat picked up speed, either from the music or from her dancing, and he didn’t care to discern the reason. Her hair whipped around her face with each move, strands sticking to her cheeks. And with her hands in the air, Butch couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

What must’ve been hours felt like minutes, and the knot in his stomach untied. He let himself loose, lifting his hands in the air as he danced freely, aimlessly, letting all expectations go. No contest, no job, no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow. _Que será, será._

A careless dancer pushed past him, making him stumble forward and lean over her in trying not to fall. Her hands held him up by the shoulders, and Buttercup was dwarfed by his height. Butch’s eyes drifted to her lips, parted in shock, and her fingers dug into his jacket. Heat encompassed him. He couldn’t do this.

“Gonna go get a drink,” he told her.

Buttercup nodded, and off he went to the nearest bar.

He tied the jacket around his waist and ordered more vodka. Pointedly ignoring the flirty stare of a stranger from across the bar, he drank as if the drink would drown out the thoughts in his head.

He had enough self-control in him to turn down a refill – Butch knew his limits, and he’d rather not put his friend through the pain of holding his head over a toilet on a night like this. Instead, he pulled over an ashtray, and began his ritual of “nervous puffing.”

_Right. Friend._

Just when he thought of turning to check on her, Buttercup bound up next to him, eyes angry, bordering on furious. She pressed her hand firmly to his shoulder.

“Can we go outside?” She asked right next to his ear.

Through the bass and the beat, he couldn’t figure out the tone in her scratchy voice, but he agreed anyway. After paying, Butch pulled her by the wrist through the crowd and out the exit, meeting the cool night air with a gasp.

* * *

Fresh air sobered him up enough to fumble for his pockets, find his phone, and check the time. A little past two in the morning. _Time flies fast in a shithole like Joker’s,_ he thought.

Everything looked iced over upon exiting a place as bright as that. His ears felt the same, hearing muffled as if he held a hood over his head. Still, not muffled enough to mishear the chattering of Buttercup’s teeth.

Sighing, he untied the sleeves of his jacket and held it out to her. He expected her to shake her head and refuse stubbornly, but she wrapped herself in it rather quickly. When his eyes flitted to her face, he seemed to get why.

“You okay?” he asked.

Buttercup lifted the jacket’s collar up to under her nose and shook her head.

He pursed his lips, not sure whether he should press it. In the moment of his silence, he became aware of a group of people to their left. Friends, he guessed, taking a break from the booming inside.

“… Wanna talk about it?” he tried, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and scowling when he only saw two left.

Butch could hear her groan, and smiled upon hearing her tone change pitch with each word. “No…? Yes. But like… no.”

He watched the smoke rise into the air as he took the first puff. “Yeah?”

She tried to hide the laughter in her voice, and failed. “Yeah.”

Some guy from their left screamed, and they exchanged an amused glance.

“Wild night, huh?” he joked.

“Looks like it.” Buttercup said, then held out a hand. “Bum a smoke?”

Butch raised an eyebrow and offered her the last one. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

As he flicked on the lighter, she put an end between her lips and moved forward to light it. The flame graced her features in a soft orange light, reminiscent of the streetlights uptown. She took a puff, and looked up to the sky.

“I don’t. I quit after…” Her voice trailed, and he didn’t expect her to continue, but she did. “After Ace and I broke up.”

Butch guessed it was the vodka, making her open up like this. While she stared at the stars, he stared at her, wracking his brain for something to say. When that failed, she spoke.

“Some douche groped my ass back there,” she confessed in a huff, taking another drag.

And he was about ready to commit murder. He didn’t know what it was that flared up inside him, but that’s how he felt. Coughing to calm himself, he asked, “And what did you do?”

“Punched him, duh,” she shrugged, and her nonchalant expression faded in favor of a wistful smile. “Pathetic.”

“Damn right he is,” Butch agreed.

“No, not him.”

His eyes widened considerably, and he put out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe. “What?”

It’s when he turned to her that he noticed a trail of a tear rolling down her cheek. It’s all that she allowed herself, and Butch had to hold back from cradling her face.

His muffled hearing didn’t pick up on her quiet sniffle. “I can punch some unassuming asshole, but I can’t get over that fucker.”

He hadn’t moved an inch. If he did, he would have seen her face, and Butch doubted that she’d want to be seen like this. Instead, he let her talk it out, spitting every bit of venom in her into her words.

Another sniffle, one he heard this time. “We were together since… fuck, well, since junior year. And… when it happened… it was like that night at _The Black Cat._ ” Her eyebrows dropped to a fuming frown, staring holes into the ground. “Couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t even fucking cry,” a sad chuckle, “Look at me now.”

He couldn’t. It hurt.

“It’s been a year!” She choked, steadying herself with a drag. “He has a fucking restraining order, I went to a goddamn therapist, we did _everything_ we could and I…”

Butch didn’t interrupt her train of thought, even as she dropped to a squat and covered her face with her hands.

She shouted, “I let it go! It happened, I moved on, so why…”

 _Why does it hurt?_ he added on in his mind, both as a continuation to her question and as a thought to himself. Why did it hurt _him_ , seeing her like this?

He dropped to a crouch by her side as not to draw attention, eyes following the ashes falling from the tip of her cigarette. It was almost out. At times like these, he regretted dropping out of college – that psychology course would have done him wonders right now. Putting his face in his hand, Butch carefully mulled over the following words.

“Do you want me to tell you what I think?”

Buttercup raised her head from between her knees. He was stunned to find that there were no tears, except for the one he caught before. Her eyes were puffy from holding them back, one lip stuck between her teeth with determination that could bring him to his knees. He never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life, but held back for obvious reasons.

“Yeah,” she said, only loud enough for him to hear over the thrumming music in the background.

What he wouldn’t do for another cigarette right now. Opting to take a proper seat on the dirty gravel, he leaned his elbow on his knee and propped his head up on his wrist. Eyes to the stars, he sighed.

“I think… there’s this big difference between letting something go, and going through it. You let go of something, and it haunts you. You go through something, you _let_ yourself feel it, and then you can really move on.” Butch could feel her eyes on him; he waited to hear if she’d say something. When she didn’t, he elaborated.

“Like… You let it go, but you keep coming back to it, y’know? Trying to understand why it happened, why it wasn’t like something else, and the questions pile up… ‘What if I was more careful?’, ‘What if I did this or that?’, and it keeps… bringing you down, in a way?” His voice dropped to something soft and gentle he couldn’t recognize, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the tension leaving her shoulders. He heard her let out a shivery breath. “You surprised me when you said you didn’t cry or say anything.”

Her head whipped back toward him, a disgruntled expression on her features. One hand up, he explained himself.

“Not because of what you think.” He coughed. “I’m surprised because you’re really upfront about how you feel, whether you like something or not. It’s admirable.”

He bit back what he actually meant. _It’s what I like about you._

Her brow furrowed, and he chuckled.

“But… you let it go, trying to show others that you were tough or strong, right?”

He could’ve sworn someone had struck a match, the way her eyes lit up. Butch got it right.

“Here’s the thing, though,” he paused to take in this new side of her he uncovered, “– you’re strong no matter what, Buttercup. You’re not weak because he hurt you. You’re _allowed_ to show you’re hurt. People who care, people who love you – your sisters, your parents, your friends – they won’t judge you for it.” Butch took a moment to lower his voice again, having found that it had come awkwardly close to shouting. “And if they do, they’re morons.”

He was vaguely aware of her dazed staring, lost in the angles of his face. He guessed it was because he said something wrong, and dragged a hand down his sweaty face. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

If he was going to add something, it definitely would’ve been interrupted by how quickly Buttercup asked him, “Do you judge me for it?”

He looked at her as if she’d asked him if the Moon revolves around the Earth. “Of course not.”

With that, she nodded and nestled her head atop her knees again, gaze somewhere so far he couldn’t see.

“Good,” she muttered.

As she put out her cigarette, Butch contemplated how he should break another silence that settled between them. The air seemed simultaneously too thick for a joke and too thin for a heavy question, so he stared at his shoes. Butch found himself wondering if, in the midst of everything he’d told her, he’d said something wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. And with the silence choking him to death, he began to think he did.

It is then that she spoke again.

“What do we do now?”

Butch’s gaze flickered over to her as she fiddled with the laces of her shoes. “What do you want to do?”

A smile that didn’t reach the eyes went to her face. “Me?” She breathed. “I want to scream somewhere no one can hear me.”

In that single sentence, he felt that he understood her. His lips threatened to curl up into a smile as he stared at the sky with her. “Let’s scream.”

“Tch. People can hear us, Butch.”

Grunting while he lifted himself off the gravel, he stretched his arms over his head. “Let’s go somewhere, then.”

His right hand landed in front of her face, waiting to be taken.

Buttercup’s eyebrows rose at the same time she took it. “Where?”

“I know a place,” he smiled.

* * *

It was rare that Buttercup felt comfortable in a car. Something always bothered her with the tiny, limited space. The seats were never as soft or as sturdy as she’d like them to be. Even driving with all the windows rolled down was a pain.

Which is why sitting in the passenger seat of Butch’s car was odd, but in a good way. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling, but it was far from the usual discomfort she experienced. Tucked into the jacket he’d given her, one hand absent-mindedly hanging out her window, with the car radio turned up to her comfort songs (Butch was gracious enough to give her the AUX cord), Buttercup stared at the road ahead.

Wherever he was taking her, she couldn’t find it in herself to worry about it.

Her faraway gaze shifted from the city disappearing in her rear-view mirror to his figure in the corner of her eye. Now that the moon was nearing the horizon somewhere past three, it was low enough to cast his features in its cold light, past the yellowish reflection of his headlights. He was quiet, ever so slightly bobbing his head to the music or asking for the name of a particular song from time to time. Something pensive caught behind his eyes, and Buttercup wondered what was going through his head.

A smile broke out on her face when she recognized the intro to one of her favorite songs. BC couldn’t help but headbang to the quick-paced guitar riff, nor could he help the chuckle that escaped him. If his eyes weren’t on the road, Butch was sure they’d be glued to her and her movement.

With the most hilariously faked British accent, Buttercup sang along, breaking up the stale mood they’d let themselves drift into. His mouth was stuck in a face-splitting grin.

“ _Stop making the eyes at me, I’ll stop making my eyes at you,_ ” She danced in her seat with finger-guns poking the air.

To her utter shock, he joined in. “ _What it is that surprises me is that I don’t really want you to!_ ”

It didn’t stop her from continuing, not willing to miss a beat. “ _And your shoulders are frozen!_ ”

“ _Cold as the night!_ ” Butch screeched the backing vocals.

As if it were a competition, she made a point of yelling louder. “ _Oh, but you’re an explosion!_ ”

“ _You’re dynamite!_ ” He shook his head wildly, before they sang the rest of the pre-chorus and the chorus together.

“ _Your name isn’t Rio, but I don’t care for sand and lightning_

 _The fuse might result in a bang b-b-bang-go!_ ”

For some reason, she didn’t mind the awful crack in his voice or his obvious lack of tune.

They dissolved into a fit of cackles at the break between the chorus and the second verse. It took all her energy to stop the wheezing, before sneaking a glance at his face and laughing all over again.

“What’chu know about _Arctic Monkeys_ , rap boy?” she managed between giggles – _giggles_ – and rubbing her cheeks to regain her composure.

Butch chuckled. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

She pressed her cheek into her palm and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He mimicked her expression. “Yeah.”

Humoring him with a roll of the eyes, Buttercup sighed. “Fine, I promise.”

He fell back into laughter. “Boomer had a phase.”

“Oh my _god_.” She clutched her stomach, which had begun to hurt from the distinct lack of oxygen.

“ _I know!_ ” He shook his head.

It is when Buttercup caught the glint in his eyes while he laughed that she felt light-headed, and couldn’t comprehend why.

“… Who would have thought,” she said, more to herself than to him, even though it fit as a proper conversation-ender.

“I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor” faded out into another song, and the next ten minutes were spent in a cozy quiet that wrapped itself around them as loosely as his large jacket draped over her narrow shoulders. Buttercup would never admit it, but it was warm, and if she very, _very_ stealthily hid her nose in the collar, she could faintly smell mint and pine.

The once-empty roadside gave way to a wooded area only lit up by the sky above. Without the city’s light pollution in the way, the cloudless night looked like she could reach up and brush her fingertips against the moon. The dim, red lights of the car radio displayed the time – 3:41 a.m.

Butch pulled the hand brake and looked at her like he had something at the tip of his tongue he couldn’t say. Her eyes flitted to his lips while he bit them together and smiled mirthlessly. “Here we are.”

* * *

There was no other word to describe it but the middle of nowhere. A half-hour drive took them so far from Townsville she couldn’t see its extravagant lights in the distance. Surrounded by trees, the only thing on the horizon ahead were the mountains, so dark in this time of night that one could easily mistake the sparse, yellow lights of houses for stars.

Upon exiting the car, Buttercup agreed – this really was somewhere no one could hear them. However, it only made her wonder why Butch was leading them further into the woods. Grass crackling under her feet and cicadas singing on the trees were the only things she could hear. In the subtle sounds, she thought it was only a matter of how close she could get to him before he heard her nervous heart beating out her chest.

He stood at the edge of a clearing, making her bump her nose on his back at the sudden stop. Butch made no comment and gestured for her to step in front of him.

A field in the middle of trees suddenly seemed like endless space, making her feel smaller than ever. She persisted, stomping down the significantly taller grass and feeling it tickle her hands and midriff.

Eyes to the starry sky and hair still in the windless night, she let her arms fall limp at her sides. Standing in the middle of the ambiguously circle-shaped clearing, Buttercup felt the pent-up rage she’d been bottling up bubble inside, before it dissipated into a cold emptiness.

She stared down at her hands, then swiftly turned to face Butch again.

A gasp left her upon seeing he was farther away than she’d expected – about five steps behind her. Everything stopped as she set her eyes upon his moon-bathed figure, standing still with his hands in his pockets, waiting. Buttercup forgot.

“Why did you bring me here?”

His voice was monotone, as if he were reading from a book. “You said you wanted to scream somewhere no one could hear you,” Butch explained. “This used to be my outlet. Now it’s yours.”

Buttercup heard an unspoken “too” at the end of that last sentence, but said nothing. She looked away, letting the feeling in again.

Her arms hugged her shoulders close, gooseflesh coming over her skin. Something flared inside her, brewing an oncoming explosion. It built up in her lungs, rising to her throat like smoke and sparks. Memories of the wretched night mixed with the alcohol in her system made for a thundering sensation inside her chest. She had to get rid of it, before it consumed her from the inside out. Her hands gripped her shoulders in a self-assuring hug she wasn’t given, in preparation of belting the loudest scream her vocal cords could manage. Jaw dropped in a vicious, screech-ready grimace, and then…

Nothing.

Empty air. Void of sound. Void of rage. And she tasted horror on her tongue.

Like Butch had said, she was going through it, reeling and lurching forward in a manner one would use to vomit. Her throat felt like strumming a bass guitar without an amplifier – incapable of producing sound, no matter how hard she tried.

No sound.

And for the first time, the silence wasn’t inspiring. The quiet didn’t push her to fill it with her voice. It was eating her alive, jabbing crooked teeth in her neck and pulling ragged, fearful breaths from her mouth. Buttercup was spiraling. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

A shuffle from behind her drew her back to her post. It was Butch, taking a single step forward and stretching out a hand an arm’s length away from her. His lips were pressed together in a sympathetic half-smile. The crease between his raised eyebrows told her what he couldn’t say aloud.

She stared at the bulky hand in front of her, its fingers patiently extended. The questioning stare she offered made him explain it.

“Hold on,” Butch’s voice rasped, barely above the surrounding quiet, “– if you want.”

Only the ache in her lungs knew she wanted. His hand was out to her as a lifeline, as a thin thread pulling her to the present. Because that’s where she was supposed to be. Not the past – she knew what happened there. Not the future – she didn’t want to think about it. Right then and there, she was reaching out to him, holding on to him as tightly as he let her. As tightly as she could.

With their fingers intertwined in a vice grip, Buttercup let the scream loose.

If it had been any softer, she would have been angry at herself. It was ferocious, burning, ugly, bitter, sad, disappointed, tired, and everything she had been. Before she could stop them, tears pricked the corners of her eyes, falling down her cheeks like they should have long ago. She didn’t bother to brush them away. All that had welled up inside her was being released one screech at a time, her apathetic mask be damned. Her small fingers felt broken in his heavy grasp, and she wasn’t sure who was holding whom.

As her throat turned rawer with each yell, she took notice of another voice mixing with her own. They locked eyes for half a second, before returning to screaming their troubles away.

When the fire in her chest subsided and extinguished, Buttercup’s knees buckled and nearly sent her falling to the ground. Her hands were shaking, and the one in Butch’s hold was all but digging its nails into crescent-shaped indents between his knuckles. Panting to gather their lost breath, their eyes met once more.

She must’ve looked confused, because he breathed a low laugh. “We got issues.”

It earned him a half-hearted sigh that was meant to be a chuckle. “Yeah, we do.”

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. The affectionate touch sent sparks tickling her skin, and Buttercup hoped the darkness was enough to hide her pink cheeks.

“We should go,” he said.

She smiled in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj
> 
> song mentioned: I bet you look good on the dancefloor by The Arctic Monkeys


	36. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick's snooping leads to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gratuitous references to movies galore
> 
> this is probably the one with the most connections to Led so far (aside from the actual fall in ch1)  
> ANYway
> 
> even 36 chapters in, i'm still blown away by the amount of attention and love this fic is receiving. thank you all so much!! i don't think i have the words to properly describe my gratitude <333

Blossom sat at the table in _Lava Java_ , waiting for her order and for Brick to come back. That morning, he’d announced he was going to visit Dan for questions about therapy. She hadn’t told him, but she highly suspected it was more about ways to get her to stand. Not that she minded – Blossom found his ideas amusing, to an extent.

Past that extent was actually _trying_ _out_ his ideas.

So far, the most ridiculous one was last week – he tried tying Buzz to her wheelchair and letting him run. That, surprisingly, ended without a scratch (only because Brick stopped him before he ran into a wall).

Her chin rested in her palm as she stared out the window into the mall.

It was April 27th, and it made her wonder if it was even possible to make good on his promise. Walking before the end of April would take something grand, dare she say, a miracle. She hated to think it. She wanted to stay as optimistic as he was, but it was getting increasingly difficult. What he said gave Blossom hope, and that was the hardest part. What’s worse, it gave her higher hopes than walking by the end of May.

Part of her wanted to trust him about that promise as much as she did about anything else. Part of her was scared of how much trust she put in a man, given how that worked out last time.

_You can’t win anything without me, Blossom._

It’s been two months, and the words still stung.

“Bloss?”

The familiar voice struck her out of her reverie. Buttercup.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Having arrived with her order, BC smiled as she set it down in front of her. “What’s up? Where’d the Bludgeoner go?”

Blossom put an extra packet of sugar in her coffee, hoping to sweeten the sour taste that came with her thoughts. “Not much. He’s at his dad’s, he’ll be back soon. What about you?”

Taking a cautious look around, BC took a seat across from her. “Same. Done with the album, so now we’re waiting for the results…”

“Oh, give me the name of the album, I wanna put it on replay when it’s out.” Blossom said, pulling up her notes app.

Buttercup grinned. “Sure. We called it ‘Trigger Finger’.”

Blossom nodded with approval, staring down at her keyboard to write it down. “Badass.”

She looked up to find BC’s eyes as open as her mouth. “What?” she giggled.

“ _Language!_ ” Buttercup pointed and laughed. “Damn, who are you and what did you do to my sister?”

“Ha-ha,” Blossom smiled sarcastically, “Blame Brick for that one.”

“Pfft, I guessed so,” Buttercup snorted, tracing patterns on the table with her finger.

Blossom didn’t miss the distant look in her eye. “Something wrong?”

She hummed. “No, just…” A sigh. “Thinking about how silly it is that the Jojo brothers had this big of an impact on us.”

Her sister’s eyebrows rose suggestively. “Is there something you wanna tell me, Buttercup…?”

Catching on to the meaning, BC’s face erupted into a furious blush. “What?! No! Not like _that-_ ”

“Calm down! It’s okay,” Blossom soothed, lifting her hands. “I get what you mean.”

She took a sip of her coffee. Buttercup chewed on her lip.

“Butch and I went out the other night,” she said.

“Really?” She asked, wanting to keep the subject as far away from herself as possible.

“Yeah.” She propped her chin up on her wrists. “Celebrated the end of the collab.”

Blossom nodded. “How was it?”

A shrug. “It was _Joker’s,_ so nothing special. Drinks, dancing, all that jazz.”

“Had fun?”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen us – not one braincell between the two of us,” she chuckled, and Blossom along with her.

“And… what happens when the contest ends?”

She chewed on a nail, thinking, gaze trailing somewhere in the mall. After a short silence, Buttercup sighed. “Depends. If we lose, then nothing. If we win, we split the contract and go our separate ways.”

Tapping her coffee cup, Blossom gave some thought to her sister’s words. It wasn’t too different from how she felt about Brick leaving if she stood. Then again, a notion of sadness hit her with the idea of going back to being strangers with him. She swallowed.

“Is that how you want it to be?”

Buttercup’s eyes shot back to her, significantly wider. Before she could think of a response, someone from behind the counter called out her name.

“I- I’ll be there in a minute!” She put a hand up as she rose from her chair. “Gotta go. Uh… talk to you soon?”

“Sure,” Blossom smiled sagely. “See you around.”

She noticed the rush of her sister’s steps, and decided to forgive it. After all, she understood the struggle more closely than she’d like to admit. Sipping the rest of her coffee, Blossom found comfort in the fact that someone else shared her troubles.

* * *

It was around two o’clock when Brick had decided it was time he thoroughly cleaned the apartment. Sitting on the couch with Buzz in her lap and a book in her hand, Blossom couldn’t help but look over at him every now and again. She found he had a habit of putting on music as he did anything around the apartment, and he’d often dance along the way.

At the moment, he was doing the robot as he cleaned the living room bookshelf, and it nearly teased a laugh out of her. He wasn’t half bad, but painfully shy, and he’d probably stop if she acknowledged him. Blossom refrained from any reaction, choosing instead to quietly enjoy the show between every other paragraph.

After he’d moved to clean her room (having already asked her permission), Blossom almost pouted at the lack of secondary entertainment. She dove back into her novel, gently stroking Buzz’s fur. Sometimes, if she ran into a particularly nice sentence, she’d read it aloud to the dog, and giggle at his response, which was usually a disinterested sniff. Blossom would pretend to be offended (“Have you no respect for fine literature, dear Buzz?”), to which he would woof dismissively and bury his snout in her side.

Minutes later, there was a sound she’d never expect from the man they called _the Bludgeoner_. Brick _awwed_ at something.

Buzz’s ears perked up to the sound. Blossom lifted her gaze from the book. “What is it?”

He stepped out of her room, holding a pair of ice skates. Little red ice skates.

“Look at these!” Brick spoke in a high-pitched voice, grinning from ear to ear. “They’re so tiny!”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Where’d you find those?”

“I was cleaning the closet and found them in a box on the top shelf.” His shoulders shot up with realization. “Sorry, I kinda snooped, right?”

Her eyebrows knit together as she smiled. He _did_ kinda snoop, but Blossom couldn’t find it in herself to be mad when he seemed so excited to have found them. Like a puppy who just dug out a lost treasure.

“It’s alright,” she spoke softly and waved her hand.

He visibly relaxed. “… Why are they so small though?”

Blossom giggled. “They’re my first skates. Dad insisted on keeping them.”

“Huh.” She noticed he held them more carefully now, turning them in his hands to take a better look.

“Yeah…” She shrugged and sighed sentimentally. “Just put them back up when you’re done cleaning.”

“Of course.”

He seemed to have forgotten that he was in the same room as her, because he swayed his hips while he walked out. Blossom, of course, _wasn’t_ staring at the movement. Nope. Not even a little bit.

Cleaning dragged on for quite a while, but when he was finally done, Brick made a point of untying his hair and dramatically collapsing on the couch next to her. The sudden fall startled Buzz, sending him jumping from his spot on her legs. She laughed at their antics.

“Whatcha laughing at, Icy?” Brick groaned, his face stuck in a throw pillow.

“Nothing, nothing,” she wheezed.

Sitting up, he fished out his phone to turn off his playlist, scanning the room one final time. The line his lips formed was critical, but satisfied. It is then that she noticed his cap was gone from its usual perch atop his head.

“Where’s your cap?”

“Laundry,” he replied simply.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text, and he plopped back down to respond. If he didn’t ooze exhaustion, Blossom would have reprimanded him for lifting his feet up on the armrest. That, and if she wasn’t entranced by how his hair splayed out on the cushion under his head. Blossom had to remind herself not to touch it, no matter _how_ soft it looked.

Irritated with how little space they left him, Buzz whuffed with annoyance, deciding to lie on the floor.

“Who are you texting?” She asked as she put her novel down.

“Eh, Butch,” he whined.

“You sound irritated.”

“’Course I am, he’s an idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “Butch and his fuckin’ drama.”

“ _Language_ ,” she warned, reaching down to flick his forehead.

What Blossom hadn’t predicted was that he would grab her wrist and, in an attempt to stop her, pull her down. Her face hovered mere inches above his, upside down, her breath swishing his bangs. Time stopped as they took in the position. Brick swiftly let her go, the tips of his ears reddening when she pulled away.

“… They’re done with the album, y’know,” Blossom changed the subject, averting her eyes.

“Yeah, he told me.” He nodded.

“‘Trigger Finger’,” she said.

Brick exhaled from his nose, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah.”

Clearly getting the impression he was too tired to talk, Blossom dropped it, picking her book back up.

Not five seconds after she’d done that, he sprung up to a seating position, suddenly energized.

“THAT’S IT!” He yelled, scaring the daylights out of her.

“What?!” She shouted back.

“A trigger!” Brick shifted to face her, hands shaking as he explained. “You need a trigger, Blossom! God, why didn’t I think of this before…”

Her face scrunched up, trying to make sense of his rambling. Worried eyes followed him as he got up and began pacing around the coffee table. “What are you talking about?”

“You need some kind of trigger to get you to stand!” Brick ran a hand down his face. “Like, an amulet! Charm! Catalyst! Something to get you to walk! You get what I mean?”

“ _I know what trigger means, Hothead!_ ”

He gasped, and before she could think to ask him more, he disappeared back into her room. There was a short shuffling sound, and then he came out again with the ice skates.

Blossom furrowed her eyebrows. “I can’t wear those!”

He dropped back down on the couch, Buzz curiously sticking his snout near his hands. “If you can’t wear ‘em, you just need a piece of ‘em.”

If he didn’t look dead serious about it, Blossom would have told him it was stupid. She watched his veiny hands untie the white shoelaces and pull them out with urgent speed.

“Give me your right hand.” He said it with such conviction, she immediately obliged.

He took both laces, tied them together, and looped them around her wrist. Brick was careful not to tie the bow too tightly around her hand. Once he was done, he grinned up at her with a victorious glint in his red eyes, and she swore could have died on the spot.

“C’mon! Let’s go outside!” He all but pounced towards her, sweeping her up and running to place her in the wheelchair. Buzz excitedly trotted along with them.

As much as she wanted to sound threatening, Blossom laughed all the way, even when he set her down. “Slow down, Hothead!”

Brick threw her jacket at her and slipped on his own, the manic grin never leaving his face. “I’m getting you to stand with this one, Icy. That’s a promise.”

His words were sobering. The stupidity of the idea crashed down on her now that she was sitting.

“This isn’t gonna work,” she said skeptically, putting her jacket on anyway.

He squatted to put her shoes on and pointed a finger up at her, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t fuckin’ say that. You’re gonna walk, Blossom.”

“This is crazy! A pair of shoelaces isn’t going to-”

“ _Blossom._ ”

She felt his rough hands cup her face, and stared down to find him still crouching, still glaring at her most seriously. Blossom swallowed. The grave tenor of his voice made her shudder unwillingly.

“Trust me.”

It sounded like a command, but the wet glint of his eyes told her that it was a plea. In the midst of her doubt, a sliver of hope hung from a thread, as thin as the line between his eyebrows when he frowned. She _wanted_ to trust him.

Blossom gave him a shivery nod, her voice stifled by the reassuring pressure of his hands. “Okay.”

He smiled. She ignored the feeling of cold hitting her cheeks when he pulled his hands away. Standing back up, Brick found their keys and led them out of the apartment, Buzz following close behind.

* * *

Minutes later, they were in the back parking lot of Blossom’s building, and Blossom was all but fuming.

“I told you, it’s not going to work,” she slammed her hands on the armrests of her wheelchair. “Let’s go back insi-.”

“Shush! I’m thinking!”

Brick returned to his thoughtful pacing. Buzz exchanged a glance with Blossom that most articulately said “can you believe this guy?” Who would have thought someone like him was superstitious. All this talk of amulets made Blossom’s head hurt. Worse yet, it made the idea of getting her to walk even more obscure.

The hand rubbing circles on Brick’s chin stopped to snap his fingers. “We got the amulet, now you need an incantation.”

She let out a frustrated, guttural sigh. “Hothead-”

His hands covered hers as he leaned in closely at a surprising speed, nearly sending them falling over. “Don’t you ‘Hothead’ me! Say it with me now! ‘To infinity and beyond’!”

Blossom stared at him as if he’d just asked her to shift the Earth a quarter of an inch to the left. “What?”

“To infinity and beyond!” He repeated, moving away once more. “Buzz says that! C’mon, say it with me!”

...

It was official. Brick had lost his marbles.

She shook her head in disbelief. “Brick, this is getting dumber by the mi-”

“Say it!”

“Brick, I’m being-”

“Say it!”

“Bri-”

“ _Say it!_ ”

“FINE!” Blossom screamed, making him flinch in surprise. “…What do I say again?”

His fists shook in front of him like a kid on a sugar rush. “‘To infinity and beyond!’”

Another sigh, more dejected and determined to just get it out of the way. “To infinity and beyond,” she muttered.

“Not like that!” Brick looked skyward. He was _really_ beginning to look like some spoiled kid now. “You gotta say it with your _soul,_ Icy!”

She slapped her forehead and was about sure Buzz would have done the same if he had hands. God, if the neighbors heard them...

“To infinity and beyond,” she said.

“You’re getting there! A little louder!” He urged her, taking a step back. “To infinity and beyond!”

“To infinity and beyond!” Blossom imitated his tone, only slightly quieter.

“Louder! To infinity and beyond!” He stepped back again.

“To infinity and beyond!” She shouted, eyes narrowing with the scrunch of her face.

“To!” He yelled.

“To!” She echoed.

“Infinity!”

“Infinity!”

“And!”

“And!”

“Beyo-”

_CRASH!_

A speeding car sent him falling to the gravel.

Blossom stood and fell over in trying to run and reach him. “BRICK!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me ending on a cliffhanger oof-
> 
> i'm SORRY ~~(no i'm not)~~
> 
> PS if you think we're getting close to the end, oh honey, this is just the middle (or should i say, beginning)
> 
> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	37. Hospital Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick wakes up, and it must be those damn sedatives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oHOOOOOO first of all i'm still sorry about the last chapter's cliffhanger but ~it had to be done~
> 
> phew this is equal parts angst and fluff and it's a mess and i'm sorry it got rushed between school and assignments and there's so much gOING ON-
> 
> anywayssss i love y'all so much and your encouragement means the world to me <333

_He opened his eyes in a field of daffodils, staring up at a bright sky. White, but cloudless._

_Shifting in the indent of grass he occupied, Brick managed to sit up, despite the stinging pain in his arm. As he did so, not too far from him, a group of children ran around playfully. Bell-like laughter followed them. Their clothes blurred in oversaturated shades of yellow. He was too far to see their faces, but something in him recognized them as they chased each other in the flower-dotted grass. The familiarity struck him with a sense of dread he couldn’t explain._

_In hopes of understanding it, Brick stood and walked closer. But the dread only grew, and the faceless children ran. The sound of their laughter died when he saw flashes of grey falling from the colorless sky. One fell on his shoulder, and he opened his mouth to scream, only to be met with silence._

_It was a dead bird._

_In the moment he tried to process his fright, the ground beneath his feet gave in, and Brick was falling into freezing water._

_Above him, a crack in the ice was patching itself up, leaving him to choke underwater. And he did – he choked, fear for his life filling him like the water entering his lungs. His hands, black with unwashed, rotten blood, stopped grasping at his throat in favor of punching the ice above, trying to break out._

_Panic overtook him. In an attempt to call for help, his mouth opened and let more water in. Some cruel force constrained his chest and wouldn’t let him go. It was torturous. Brick was tempted to stop, to close his eyes and sink into the black depths below._

_Something cracked through the barrier above._

_He stared up while a pair of hands he recognized broke the ice and reached out for him. Their softness felt comforting against his cheeks, and he held on, despite the growing burn in his left shoulder. They began to pull him up, but as he swam up the frigid water, a sense of wrongness wrapped around his heart. Their hold suddenly felt like an inexplicable lie._

_Upon climbing to the surface, Brick coughed up a thin, ivory liquid that looked far from the water he was drowning in. It didn’t have the stench of bile. He didn’t care to find out, choosing instead to look up at the savior (if they even were one)._

_What once was gratefulness turned into overwhelming rage as he found the face of his father staring back at him. He couldn’t stand it._

_Before he knew it, Brick was tackling the middle-aged man to the ground and punching his face, blow after regretful blow. The man made no noise, but Brick was screaming all the way. He didn’t care to rub away the sweat and tears coating his cheeks._

_Exhaustion caught up to him, and he fell forward, collapsing to the now-empty space under him. Everything went white._

* * *

His blurry vision focused, and upon seeing white in front of him, Brick was scared he was re-living the nightmare. Now, he knew he was awake, and the smell of chemicals and cherries floated up to his face. The pain in his left shoulder was static-like, as if his arm had fallen asleep. Some unknown weight sat on his stomach, but it was warm and not unpleasant. His head felt heavy on his shoulders, despite the soft pillow underneath it.

… Pillow?

Brick didn’t remember falling asleep, much less on a bed.

Snapping his eyes open, his head hurt when he tried to lift it. He raised his hand to feel what was applying pressure to his forehead, and touched rough bandages and gauze.

Confused, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Brick was in a puffy white bed of a… hospital room? White walls, a desk, a desk chair and a poster of skeletal anatomy on a metal closet gave it away. To his left was a door, and to his right, a side table and a wide window. It was dark out. The pressure he was feeling on his stomach was a head of flowing red hair, leaning over him from a wheelchair to his left. Realization softly crept up to him.

“Blossom…?”

She didn’t stir, but a deep voice answered instead. “Let her sleep.”

Brick turned his head to the right, only to meet the gaze of a tall man in the corner of the room. He wore a doctor’s mantle, arms folded in front of him and covering an ID card. His black hair, slicked back and streaked with graying hairs, gave the impression of an authority figure. The shape of his eyes reminded him of something, but he couldn’t pick up on it. He observed Brick with downturned lips.

Brick listened while he spoke quietly.

“You scared the daylights out of her.” One of the man’s hands came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Gold shone on his ring-finger – married. “I heard she found a caregiver while I was away, but I’d been hoping to meet you under better circumstances than this.”

Brick swallowed with a dry mouth. “Wait. You are…”

The man approached him, nodding, his mouth in some semblance of a smile. “Professor Eugene Utonium, pleased to meet you.”

If it weren’t for Blossom sleeping with her head in his lap, Brick would have shot up straight. Instead, he let his jaw drop with the lack of appropriate words. Brick wracked his brain to find something to say.

Obviously sensing his confusion, the Professor gave him a hand to shake, at which Brick stared in awe.

The smile on his face suddenly didn’t seem so forced. “I’m sorry about everything. Thank you for taking care of Blossom.”

Slowly, Brick gave him his hand, too weary to make it a proper handshake. After his hand dropped, the Professor sat at the edge of the bed, by his feet.

“Do you remember what happened?” The Professor asked.

He stared at the white covers with an intensity that could burn a hole in them. “… We were in the parking lot. I was… I was trying to get her to stand.” He was surprised to hear how scratchy his voice had gotten from sleep.

Stealing a glance at her sleeping form, her hair splayed out over the sheets, Brick noticed her right hand resting on the bed. He noticed the white shoelace still tied around her wrist. He shifted his gaze to the Professor, who pressed his lips together. Brick wasn’t sure whether it was a positive reaction.

The Professor sighed. “I’m horribly sorry about what I did. In my excitement to see her again, I was driving carelessly and hit you. I hope you can forgive me.”

As much as the action hurt, Brick shook his head. “It’s water under the bridge. I’m just… glad nothing happened to her.”

He tried to run a hand over her hair, only to find his left arm in a sling. No cast, just a small bandage around his wrist. Brick raised a curious eyebrow at the Professor.

“You dislocated your shoulder and had a mild concussion in the crash. They set your shoulder while you were unconscious, it will heal fully in two to three weeks. The effects of the concussion should wear off in a week, but my colleague will have to examine you before you’re discharged.”

Brick exhaled through his nose, staring at his hands. “Thank you.”

How troublesome. His gaze flitted towards Blossom once more, worried about the next few weeks.

There was a short, sniff-like snort coming from the Professor. “She nearly went into a full-fledged panic attack. You gave her quite a scare.”

Brick’s eyes widened. “Over a dislocated shoulder and a concussion…? I mean, could’ve been worse.”

He clenched his jaw, his serious demeanor returning as he picked his hands. “Exactly. It could’ve been much worse.”

Brick bit his lip, deciding to keep quiet.

“I haven’t seen her this scared since she fell at that competition. She… Blossom must care a lot about you.” Something wistful between a smile and a scowl made its way up the Professor’s face, and Brick decided he didn’t like it.

He flinched, beginning to ramble. “Sir, we’re not like that, I-”

“Oh, no, no need to explain yourself, Mr. Jojo.” The older man raised his hands, grinning. “Blossom told me everything, that’s not what I meant at all.”

Brick huffed in relief. The awkwardness of that interaction made him shiver, and he tried to find another subject to talk about. He took another glance over the room, found that there was no clock, then turned to the window. “What time is it?”

The Professor checked his watch. “About an hour past midnight.”

As much as he wanted to twitch in surprise, he restrained himself in favor of letting Blossom sleep. She lightly stirred, turning her head, and he saw the sleepy flush of her face. Seeing her this peaceful teased a smile on his face. Brick was glad she was okay.

“Your brothers were here, but they left around eleven. One of them took the dog with him.” The Professor followed the line of Brick’s gaze, and smiled endearingly. “I tried to tell Blossom to go, that I’d be here until you woke up, but she insisted on staying with you.”

His eyebrows rose before dropping to a frustrated furrow, and he shook his head. “I would’ve told her to go, too. It doesn’t look comfortable, sleeping like that.”

The Professor seemed to imitate the gesture with a smile. “She’s always been a stubborn one.”

Expression mellowing out, Brick breathed a low laugh. “Yeah, she is.”

He didn’t miss the amiable narrowing of Brick’s eyes when he stared at his daughter, but the Professor said nothing. Instead, he stood from the bed and paced towards the door.

“I should go,” he said, “My night shift starts in a few minutes.”

Brick nodded politely. “Alright. It was nice to meet you, sir.”

“Same here. Wake her up when you’re ready to be scolded,” The Professor joked by the doorway. It earned him a soft laugh as the door creaked shut behind him.

Transfixed by the slow rise and fall of her back as she slept, Brick chuckled to himself. She worried herself to sleep – over him. Looking back on his idea, it might have occurred to him that it wasn’t the wisest, but he guessed that it was worth it. If anything, this sight was worth it. He shook the thought out of his head when a strand of crimson hair fell a bit too close to her nose for his liking.

Brick reached out to brush it away, but impulsively got too close too quickly, and ended up tapping her cheek. His shoulders flinched while she stirred and yawned with a cat-like stretch.

Blossom hummed, “Brick…?”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up from her makeshift pillow. She squinted up at him until her vision adjusted to the lights, and then dived toward him. However, she lost balance rather quickly, and he had all of two seconds to react to the hug and properly sit her up on the side of the bed.

“Brick!” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

His hands folded over her waist, and he smiled, holding her as tightly as his sling allowed. Brick didn’t mind the slight pain of pressing her close.

Blossom pulled away to give him a reprimanding glare. Her hand rose to give him a weak slap (read: _pat_ ) to the face.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” She told him.

He humored her with a shake of his head. “Language,” he laughed.

Her head fell to his shoulder, temple worriedly pressing into his collar. His senses were, once again, assaulted with the smell of cherries.

“I don’t care! You could’ve…! You…!” Blossom’s words came out like hiccups, fists languidly landing barely-felt blows to his chest. “You idiot!”

“I know, I know,” he reassured. All he could do was pat her head, even though he felt his heart rising to his throat at the sob-like sniff she let out. _Was she that worried?_

Pulling away, her glare didn’t relent, but there was relief behind those diamond pink eyes. Her warm breath brushed over his neck, and he swore he could get addicted to the feeling. Brick offered a consoling smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with understanding. She returned it reluctantly.

“How are you feeling?” Blossom asked, barely above a whisper.

He put a hand to his left arm. “Just worn-out, but I’m okay.”

Her shoulders dropped a little, relieved. “The doctors said you had a mild concussion. Do you remember anything from before…?”

The hesitation in her voice made him take his time with an answer. He rummaged through the many thoughts running around his head, persistently pushing away the awful dream he’d had.

“We were in the parking lot.” He took her hand, fingers gingerly tracing over the shoelace tied around her wrist. “I was… trying to get you to stand with this?”

Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind, and a gasp left him. Their eyes met, wide red against smiling pink, and the grin on her face confirmed his suspicion.

“ _And you walked!_ ” His arms wildly swung out, pain forgotten in his excitement.

“And I walked!” She imitated him with the same, delighted expression.

Brick pulled her in for the biggest, tightest hug his tired arms could manage, their laughter mixing in the quiet of the room. The pressure of her hands against his back as she fell into him could easily climb to the top of his “Best Feelings Ever” list. Her head easily fell into the juncture between his chin and collar, warmly nestling her there. Happy tears blurred the edges of his vision. She did it.

As laughter died out into wheezy breaths, Blossom rose from his chest, propped up by her elbows. In that drawn-out moment, where her blinding smile bunched up her cheeks and her flushed face was a bump away, Brick was struck with an idea so _dumb_ it had to have been a product of some strong sedatives. So dumb, it could top any of his brothers’ ideas ever. So dumb, he was seriously considering it.

_I’m so happy, I could kiss her._

Thankfully for his already short-circuiting brain, she seemed to realize something, and abruptly sat back up. Looking around, Blossom asked, “Where’s dad?”

Clearing his head, Brick rubbed his eye. “He left a while ago – his shift’s starting.”

She hummed. It made sense, and he guessed it put her at ease; a display like this would surely embarrass her. “Did you talk to him?”

“I did,” he sighed, “He apologized.”

Blossom scoffed lightly. “I’m sorry you had to meet each other like this.”

Scratching his cheek, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, he said the same thing.”

She carefully lifted herself from the mattress and made a tiny step before sitting back in her wheelchair. He curiously cocked his brow.

“… So what’s the plan now?” Brick asked.

In a manner similar to her father’s, she picked at her hands. After a brief, thoughtful silence, she spoke up. “I still need more therapy, so I’ll tell Dr. Fox about this and we’ll see from there. I tested it out a bit, and I can only stand for short periods at a time, and walking is unsteady, so there’s that.”

He nodded along to her explanation. “We should tell your sisters, too.”

Her eyes shot up to him. “No! Not yet!”

“Why?” He breathed a laugh.

Something contemplative caught in her eyes, as if she’d given this prospect much thought. “I want to be able to stand and walk perfectly before I tell them anything.”

“Ah.” His lips pursed. “But does your father know?”

“I told him while you were… ahem, unconscious.” Blossom put her chin in her hands, and her elbows on her knees. “He said it’d be nice.”

A grin graced his face. “We should celebrate, though.”

She giggled. “What, is a _Toy Story_ marathon not celebration enough for you?”

“No, I mean-” Brick began, but realized she was messing with him. “Oh, you know what I mean! We should like… make a party when you can walk fully.”

“Now _that_ sounds like a great idea!” She agreed. “We could invite everyone! Your brothers, my sisters, your dad, my dad, Dan-”

His eyebrows rose. His dad? When did she…

Oh.

“You mean Joseph?” he asked.

“Hm?” Her gushing stopped. “Yeah, I said that, didn’t I?”

His hands gripped the sheets, and he half-heartedly bit his lip. “Joseph’s not my dad, he’s my guardian.”

A gasp left her, and with the way her smile dropped to a line, Brick wished he’d said nothing at all. It must’ve been these damn sedatives, making him spill his guts like this. In an effort to stop a barrage of questions his headache couldn’t answer, he raised his hands.

“But I want to invite him too!” He said. “He’s… dear to me. I want him there, too, so-”

His further excusing was interjected with the simple touch of her hand to one of his. He looked up to find her wearing that stupid expression he never wanted to see again. The apologetic one.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice was soft.

A pause.

“It’s okay,” he sighed. He put his hand over hers in a lenient hold, as if her hand could break his at any given moment, despite the fact that his was much bulkier. “You didn’t know.”

Her eyes were downcast for a moment, before she retracted her hand and rolled her chair back. “I should get a nurse to check on you, be right back,” she smiled weakly.

He nodded, adding to dissipate the sudden somber mood. “Sure… We’re still on for that _Toy Story_ marathon, right?”

Turning to him over that back of the chair, Blossom smiled, and he was sure he’d done something right. “Definitely,” she said, before opening the door and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the symbolism in Brick's dream is heavy and open to interpretation because i'm a sucker for dream analysis and psychology whoops-
> 
> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	38. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch and Boomer deal with the fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pining, yearning, hurt, comfort and PLOT (:
> 
> i am horribly late to update and reply to comments because of school, but thank you all so much for being patient with me, and for all the love on this work :D <3

_Is that how you want it to be?_

Blossom’s words weighed heavily in her mind, and Buttercup had them playing on loop since the day they’d met up. The morning of the twenty-eighth was a weird one, especially since last night’s sudden hospital visit.

As she drank her coffee, she caught her reflection in the dark liquid, and stared at it in utter confusion. It settled in tiny waves, and the effect made her look sad.

The truth of the matter was, Buttercup had gotten deeply worried. In the rush of taking Brick to the A&E with her dad and sisters, she barely had the time to process what was going on. She remembered running, crying, and holding her sisters together. Somewhere in the middle, Boomer and Butch joined them in the nervous huddle.

It left a taste in her mouth bitterer than any coffee ever could, the thought of how the three of them had lived through this before. She shuddered at the memory of being six, small, and hugging her sisters in the halls of emergency rooms. Buttercup pushed it away in favor of recalling how the brothers’ shoulders shook the same way hers had back then; how their hands trembled, and how she took them, whispering a mantra of “It’ll be okay”. Because that’s all they could have hoped for.

Since they’d departed the night before, she hadn’t spoken to any of them. She’d received a brief text from Blossom, explaining that Brick was discharged around three a.m. and that he was fine. It brought her great relief, even though part of her kept running back to the mental image of Butch’s tear-streaked face. Buttercup decided she’d never want to see him as shaken as that again.

Thinking of whom, she reached for her phone, and wracked her brain for a proper text. Texting sucked – she could never tell the person’s mood from the way they texted, and they were harder to read. Thus, nothing she could come up with over text sounded good enough. Whatever she typed sounded too cold, too uncaring, and she didn’t want to come off that way. In the end, she sighed.

_you going to work today_

Received Tuesday, 11:48 a.m.

That was as casual as she could go about it. Shortly after she’d pressed the send button, his reply came.

_No, don’t have a shift tonite_

Read Tuesday, 11:49 a.m.

_good. i’ll be over in a bit_

Received Tuesday, 11:49 a.m.

Upon gulping down the rest of her coffee, she set about getting dressed and grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter. Buttercup ignored the frantic buzzing of her phone with incoming texts – she was a woman on a mission.

Not ten minutes later, she was at his front door. Weary eyes and a forced smile greeted her in the doorway. His hair was a mess, and he hadn’t yet bothered to change out of his pajamas – a large shirt and a pair of basketball shorts (not that she’d given him the time to change). If it weren’t for the circumstances, she would have jokingly criticized it, but upon meeting his bloodshot stare, Buttercup knew better.

“Hey,” she offered, eyebrows turned up sympathetically.

His mouth opened to say it back, but a breath of air came out instead.

In that, she saw herself, and lost all inhibitions – she rushed forward to hug him. Despite the height difference, her arms latched around his neck and brought him to a slouch, holding him as close as physically possible. He reciprocated like a man drowning, arms around her waist, clinging to her like the last lifeboat of a sinking ship. The dull points of his fingertips clawed at her back, reminding himself she was there, and she wasn’t going to disappear into thin air like his mind said. His head dropped down to meet her shoulder, and her chin lifted to his collar.

The hug was silent and tearless. She’d tell him to let it out, but knowing herself, she guessed he already had. All that was left was this emptiness. This void that came after the ruse and the fear of losing someone close to you. She knew that void all too well.

“Thank you,” he said, broken voice muffled in the shirt she wore.

She nodded, and held him tighter.

Pulling himself together enough to let go, Butch palmed the back of his neck.

“… Stay for coffee?”

And even though she’d drunk her fill at home, Buttercup agreed and followed him inside.

* * *

Bubbles sauntered over to Boomer’s workspace, only to find him amongst his own organized mess of works-in-progress. He had a habit of trying to hide from his worries by overworking himself until he absolutely _had_ to face them. Over time, Bubbles learned that it was better to leave him to that, and just make sure he ate and drank enough. It’s what got him through tough times, and she respected his space as much as he did hers.

The cup of tea she’d made for him after feeding Buzz couldn’t possibly fit anywhere on the table, especially with his figure sprawled out on top of it.

Sighing, she ran a hand up his blond curls, eliciting a hiccup-like gasp. He seemed to lean up to the touch, until his head finally rose from the tabletop.

“Hey, Boomie,” she spoke softly.

Boomer hummed in response, rubbing the redness around his eyes. He gratefully accepted the cup she handed him and put it on the space his head had previously occupied. Like a child, he reached out his arms to accept her into his lap.

His cheeks were awfully cold when she cupped them. “I’m heavy.”

Once again, he leaned into her touch, putting his hands on her waist to bring her close. “Don’t care.”

Without much balance to work off of, she sat on top of him, letting his chin rest in the crook of her neck. Boomer’s breath was uneven, shivery, and she dragged her fingertips over his shoulders to calm him. In search of loving warmth, he held her as close as he could. She smelled like vanilla and sugar. She felt like home.

“How are you feeling?” She found the strength to ask into his shoulder.

He paused. “Like… nothing. I was scared and it was painful, but now there’s… there’s nothing.”

Bubbles felt his hands press into her lower back. She didn’t push him – she knew there was more.

His nose poked her shoulder as he shook his head. “I don’t know, I… I wanna hug him because he’s alright, but I also wanna kick his ass for scaring me like that, y’know?”

She stroked his hair, unable to find the words. He put it well, but there was nothing left to say.

“… Is this how it felt when…”

He didn’t have to finish the question for her to know what he meant.

“When Mom died?” Bubbles continued.

A pause, and then slow nod, as if he now knew the pain.

She stopped to collect her thoughts, biting her cheeks.

“I don’t really remember. We… Blossy, BC and I were really small, you know. We knew something bad happened, and we were scared. I don’t think we completely understood what dying meant yet – maybe that’s what made it worse for Dad at that point.” Her fingers traced the back of his workchair. “… And later, Blossom was the first one to understand it. She explained it to us the only way six-year-olds can, and even then, it took us a while to… to _really_ get that Mom wasn’t coming back.”

Boomer bit his lip. Upon noticing the somber tone she had taken on, he felt the need to cheer her up somehow.

“That explains her panic at the A&E,” he joked dryly.

She seemed to appreciate it, letting out a soft simper. “Yeah.”

“Even then, you were all so nice to Butch and I.” He hugged her closer.

Her arms wrapped around his neck just a smidge tighter. “I guess we didn’t want you to live through what we did.”

In a swift move that made her wince, Boomer lifted them off the chair and headed for the living room. He made a point of gently lowering her to the couch and nestling next to her.

“Boomie, your tea,” Bubbles reminded him, though disinterest colored her voice.

“Mhm, I’ll make us more later,” he hummed, his arms snaking around her again.

Shortly after, Buzz joined them in the cuddle pile, acting as a live heavy blanket. Boomer’s cheek rested on her temple as she made his chest her pillow. Relief and happiness flooding her heart, Bubbles made up for lost sleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	39. Movie Marathon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which having a _Toy Story_ marathon goes a little differently than Brick had intended. For the worse or for the better...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the way i'm crying and writing for me ~
> 
> jokes aside, this one is history-heavy and ANGSTy as all hell. it took so long to write because of school and because i was trying so hard not to make it Mary Sue-ish or cliche. so here we are
> 
> on an INCREDIBLY positive note, thank you all so much for your support! this fic has just recently reached over 9000 hits and 540 kudos!! it's a huge milestone for me, given that it's my first work and all ;D i'd like it a lot if you dropped over to my comments or tumblr ask and sent some suggestions for a possible event, like a one-shot raffle or something <3 your support means the world to me !!!

Brick set down another bowl of chips, the preparation for movie night almost over.

The twenty-ninth was a regular day, aside from Boomer and Bubbles coming by at noon to drop Buzz off, Butch calling to talk his ear off, and going snack-shopping with Blossom.

He took a scolding and a bone-cracking hug from Boomer, save for the soft tingly-ness he felt when Blossom did it. Even though they’d offered them to stay for a chat, the blond couple declined, stating they had “baby business” to attend to (which, knowing his brother, was probably spending a good hour or so in a nursery shop, gawking at teddy bears and tiny onesies).

After they’d left, Brick suggested they went shopping for the movie night he’d promised her in the hospital. Just as he was about to change, his phone rang. Butch’s contact name flashed on the screen. He picked up, and received another verbal lashing while Blossom sat to the side, snickering at his responses. Behind Butch’s explosive lecturing, he could tell his brother was upset and worried about him, so Brick let it slide with a tired “thank you”.

Once that was over with, he, Blossom and Buzz set off to get ready. That was when he’d seen Blossom with her hair tied with the ribbon, and when he decided it suited her well.

“How do I look?” She asked, noticing his stunned expression.

Her smile rivaled the fucking Sun, and Brick barely managed to stutter out a “great” before they left the apartment.

Of course, buying snacks was not about the snacks themselves. It was about strolling down the supermarket aisle for more than half an hour, picking and choosing each bag with pretend-taste. It was about him insulting her choice of food, just to have her throw the bag in his face (Brick didn’t mind – she looked funny with tongue stuck out at him in retaliation). It was about putting her in the cart and pushing her around the parking lot playfully, Blossom’s laughter mixing with his and echoing pleasantly in his ears. In the end, it was about buying thirty two bags (Blossom counted) of chips and chocolates alike. This didn’t count the sugary drinks and juices, for which Brick told her he’d lose his shape. She scrunched up her nose with a grin, reassuring him that “the calories don’t count if you’re having fun”.

As for right now, Blossom was splayed out on the couch in her pajamas, scrolling through her phone while he set up the rest. The Sun had begun to set, casting the living room in the perfect cinema-like darkness, only bright enough not to trip with the glare of the TV. Taking another look around the room, Brick made sure they had everything. He’d brought in a couple of blankets and extra pillows from the closet, and made quick work of setting up the TV to its DVD option.

Blossom put the phone down in favor of inspecting the CD case he left on the bed while her other hand scratched through Buzz’s fur where he lay next to her. “What’s so special about this movie?”

Putting the CD in, Brick opted for the spot he reserved – on the floor in the corner of the couch. He made himself comfortable with some pillows and a fluffy blanket, and reached for the remote with a smile. “It was my favorite movie as a kid, and the sequels aren’t as bad as you’d expect, either.”

 _Pixar_ ’s classic intro to the first _Toy Story_ movie came on, and he excitedly shushed her when she began reading the synopsis from the back of the case aloud. Brick didn’t see her smile down at him from the couch.

The first half of the movie went by with the occasional fun comments, and Blossom’s giggling at Buzz raising his ears every time the on-screen Buzz was mentioned. Cocooned in his mesh of blankets and pillows, Brick would point out little bits of trivia he remembered from the movie, trying his very hardest not to spoil anything to her. They both laughed when Buzz Lightyear said his signature phrase, reminded of how he’d gotten her to stand the other day.

“How’s your legs?” Brick remembered to ask, having taken her to the clinic yesterday. He recalled her doctor’s euphoric yelling about her recovery, and the following headache he had.

She shrugged. “Getting better. Dr. Fox assigned me a new treatment, and some exercises I should try at home.”

He hummed.

“… How’s your arm?” Blossom questioned.

He lifted it and flexed the muscle for emphasis, unknowingly overtaking her attention. “Better. Still hurts a little at a bad angle, and I’ll have to hit the gym soon, but it’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “It better be, if you plan on getting back to hockey in June.”

“Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, Icy,” Brick jokingly warned with a point of his finger, “You’ve gotta build up muscle too, if you plan on hitting the rink again.”

Blossom gasped, feigning offense. “Is the hot-headed Bludgeoner _himself_ telling me I’m out of shape?”

“Oh, fuzz off,” he cackled, throwing a pillow behind him and laughing at here little wince. “I’m not the Bludgeoner when I’m with you.”

He didn’t need to know about the warmth that spread through her chest, or the smile that played on her face at the words – he felt the same on himself. A silence set between them until the credits rolled and Brick got up to change the disk.

As he sat back down and pressed play, something pleasantly tugged at his scalp. He looked up to find Blossom rapidly pulling her hand back, shoulders flinching as if she’d burned herself. Brick managed to catch her wrist before it was too far away, lightly as not to hurt her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

A string of apologies flooded from her mouth. “I- I’m sorry, your hair, I- uh, it’s–”

“No, I mean… what was that?”

His grip loosened as if he was about to let go, and she found herself pushing her hand into his.

Her eyes widened significantly, before she looked at him questioningly. “… You mean, playing with your hair?”

Brick stared at the floor, the movie failing to catch his attention again. His response was quiet. “It felt nice.”

Catching the meaning from his feint blush the TV’s glare couldn’t hide, Blossom put her hand back where it was. He sighed as he leaned into the warm touch, gooseflesh overcoming his shoulders and arms. She drew gentle swirls and circles on his scalp, pulling tiny groans from his throat.

Brick swallowed harshly. “No one’s ever done that to me before,” he confessed.

He felt her pause briefly, then continue. “No one? Not even your mom, when you were little?”

His teeth sunk into his lip, suddenly more interested in the movie. “No one.”

Her fingers in his hair could have put him to sleep, how tenderly they traced mindless patterns through it. The movie marathon was the furthest thing from his mind right now.

“Sorry,” he heard her whisper.

“Don’t be,” Brick shook his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Her other hand joined the first, weaving the long strands into a thin braid. Her lack of response tickled his curiosity about the subject he was sore about.

“… What’s your mother like?” He dared to ask.

Blossom stopped her handiwork, shifting in her seat. She was quiet for a long moment, prompting him to turn around and check if she was okay. Her eyes, though a bit watery, stayed glued to the television while her hands trailed through his hair again. He was about to tell her to drop the question, but she sighed.

“Mom was nice. I don’t remember her much, though.” A mirthless grin crossed her face. “I don’t take much after her – Bubbles has her hair, BC has her eyes, and I…”

Brick had to remind himself to breathe, being as shaken by her expression as he was.

“She died in a car crash when we were six.” Blossom shook her head as if it were a bad joke. “We were afraid of car rides for the longest time after that.”

Her hand reached up to pull the ribbon from her hair. He watched as it fell down her shoulders in crimson waves. Blossom leaned closely, presenting it to him with reverence in her voice. “For our fifth birthday, she gave me my first pair of skates. This ribbon was tied around the gift box.”

Brick couldn’t handle the regretful look in her eyes as she told him. Gritting his teeth, he stood from his seat and made a beeline for the bathroom. He returned seconds later, carrying his baseball cap. Much like she did, he held it out to her, trust evident in his gaze. He took a moment to breathe, pressing his lips together, before he spoke.

“My Dad was a big fan of the _Cincinnati Reds_.” Her eyes followed his thumb as it traced the logo on the cap. “He wasn’t the best dad, but I still miss him here and there. Mom, too. They died in a plane crash, when Butch, Boomer and I were sixteen. And… this is the cap he gave me when I was ten. It used to be too big to fit me, but I grew into it.”

They smiled at each other. Her hands covered his, rubbing her thumb across them in a soothing manner.

She stared at the cap. “And… what were they like?”

While he glared at it, he couldn’t see the worried way her eyes searched his. Swallowing a breath, he began.

“Dad was a world-renowned plastic surgeon. Came from a long line of surgeons, actually. Mom married him when she was young, seventeen-ish, when he was going on thirty.” He licked his lips to mask the taste of disgust. “She married him for the money, he married her for a potential ‘heir’. That plan bit him in the ass when she was pregnant with triplets – Butch, Boomer and I.”

His hand began to shake with the grip he had on the cap’s brim. “For some reason, he chose me. His golden, nerdy-ass protégé. And somewhere around sixteen, I realized I didn’t _want_ to study medicine. I didn’t want to be top of the class, I didn’t want to be a doctor. I wanted to get into hockey, and he was hesitant, but he let me go as long as I promised to keep studying. Then…”

He could feel his knuckles turning whiter with each word. “Then he had some business to attend to in France, some big-ass conference or whatever. Mom was going to go with him. The thing was, my first big game matched up with the date, and they’d promised they would come.”

He bit his cheek. “Cue this huge screaming match between Dad and I. We… I think we both said a lot of things we regret. Of course we did, we were furious with each other.” Brick ran a hand down his face. “I stormed out like a fucking child. I told him I hated him. I told him I’d wished he would die. And…”

His scratchy voice trailed. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at her in the pitiful state he was in. Tears pricked his eyes – he immediately regretted telling her anything. It was none of her fucking business – he didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want to admit that for the past few years, he had done such a good job of not letting any of that get to him. He did such a good job of keeping it out of his thoughts. He did such a good job of hiding from it, so why…

“It’s not your fault.”

He met her eyes, equally as tear-filled as his. And he didn’t understand, how she had read his mind like that.

“It’s not your fault,” Blossom repeated, still holding his shaky hands.

Brick shook his head. “It’s not your fault, either.”

Her hands moved to cradle his face, and he fell awash with the most warmth he’d ever felt. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. You shouldn’t have…”

He covered her hands with his, eyebrows rising. “Neither should you.”

The sniff his words pulled from her made him hate saying anything at all. An unknown pain constrained his chest, made him wound up.

“I’m tired,” Brick whispered.

“Mhm.” She nodded, understanding his need for a distraction. “Wanna keep watching the movies?”

His mouth quirked into a smile. “Only if you want to.”

Blossom mimicked him. “Let’s try.”

He rose from his seat again to rewind to the start they’d missed. When he turned back around, she was lying with her arms stretched up invitingly. Brick looked at her strangely, causing her to nod to the bit of space left next to her on the couch. He scratched the back of his neck.

“I won’t fit,” he said.

“I don’t want you sitting on the floor!” She reasoned. “What if you fall asleep?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he laughed. “I won’t.”

He accepted the invite anyway.

After a bit of hassle, they successfully managed to nestle into the mess of cushions, pillows and blankets. Blossom ended up curled up on his side, her head drooping over his shoulder and her arms bending across her torso. He allowed himself to rest his cheek on her temple, surprised that his arm didn’t sting from the weight of her head. Brick silently admitted that she was partially right – he could have easily fallen asleep like this. Every fiber of his being hoped that her ear, the one pressed to his shoulder, couldn’t hear the incredibly unsteady beat of his heart.

Somewhere in the middle of the third movie, her left arm slipped over his chest, and he _melted_. He didn’t know whether she noticed his hand gliding up to pat her head, but he hoped it felt good.

 _Playing with her hair_ , is that what she would have called it? He couldn’t remember. In fact, he couldn’t concentrate on the movie, either – Brick had seen it so many times, he had the script memorized by now. All he could keep his attention on was how soft her hair was, and how her breathing changed with each move his hand made.

As the credits rolled after the fourth movie, he realized he wasn’t the only one who could fall asleep like that. Blossom already did. And honestly, Brick had neither the heart nor the energy to wake her up and take her to her room. Part of him was sure Buzz would bite him if he tried, too.

It only made sense that he fell asleep like that. And if he were to press his lips to the top of her forehead, that was for him to know and for her to figure out.

The nightmares didn’t bother him that night. The same hands that rubbed the dirt from his face so long ago had returned, bringing comfort and peace and the smell of cherries…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	40. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brick mulls over why leaving feels so hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooooooh you('ll) wanna kill me so bad over the angst
> 
> jokes aside, it feels so good to post, especially with all the love i've been receiving from you guys <3 lately i'm up to my ears in school and college preps, i barely have the time to post or interact in any way, but i assure you, your comments, kudos and bookmarks mean the world to me (and lowkey keep me sane in this mess called life)
> 
> suggestions for the 10k hits are still open, so feel free to pop into the comments/askbox in case you have any! i'd love to hear your thoughts :D
> 
> now oN TO THE CHAPTER

For the next few days, they made a show of ignoring the way they’d fallen asleep, and instead focused on other things.

In Blossom’s case, it meant starting to use a rolling walker around the apartment. Dr. Fox had suggested it one day after her assistant had noticed she could keep her balance while standing, but not while taking steps. Delighted to hear of her progress, Brick had all but rushed her to the mobility aid department of a pharmacy. Her first few tries were slow and shaky, but she had him to help around if she was uncertain. A grin had split his face the moment she’d begun to use it more freely, and little by little, her steps with it were getting more secure.

In the meantime, Brick had taken the extra money of his payment to sign back up for a gym membership. He was determined to come back in June stronger than ever. At first, he realized he didn’t miss the burn of his muscles at all, but he was resolute to become better. Besides, he had the smile of a certain redhead to come home to, and that managed to ease the pain more than he’d expected. Not that he’d ever tell her.

Speaking of things he’d never tell her, the fact that she had started walking both soothed and itched the back of his mind. It made him happy and hesitant, because he knew the moment she was fully independent, he would have to go. Looking through apartment ads in the area left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach he’d stifle with another exercise. Brick just knew that was how this would go. It only made sense, it’s what he told himself since the beginning – she’d be back on her feet (figuratively and literally), and he’d be on his merry way back to the rink.

Except, lately, it was difficult to think it would be so merry.

It was difficult, when he’d come to the apartment dripping in sweat and exhaustion, only for her to round a corner and hug him with a “welcome back”, a whiff of cherries lingering in her presence. It was difficult when two weeks into May, movie nights had become a regular Saturday night thing, and her hands would weave patterns into his scalp, and he’d miss the second half of the movie by falling asleep either next to her or with his head in her lap. Brick _refused_ to call it cuddling, despite Butch’s insistence that that was it, and instead bit back with a back-handed comment about Buttercup. He’d never seen his brother shut up so quickly.

What was especially difficult was watching her talk. Brick listened, of course, but when comparing what she was like right now to what she was like when they’d met, he couldn’t connect the two personas. Either his mind was playing tricks on him, or Blossom was literally beginning to _glow_. Her enthusiasm showed through at any given topic, and a sense of trust washed over him, knowing he could talk to her about anything now.

Brick’s head hurt upon remembering the video, reminded that sooner or later, either she would find out herself, or he’d have to be the bearer of bad news. He was hoping for the former.

If he wasn’t at the gym when she was at the clinic, Brick would find himself wandering aimlessly across the empty apartment. Sometimes he was cleaning, but most often, he was committing the space to memory. After he was done with his fifth round of absent-minded pacing, Brick would slump onto the couch. The phenomenon of staring at the ceiling with nothing to do was strange, and maybe even stranger when he’d brought it up to Boomer.

“You’re just bored,” Boomer had said when they bumped into each other at the mall.

“But how?” Brick had replied. “I’m up to my _ears_ with things to do. The place just feels hollow when I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone though,” Boomer had joked, “You got Buzz.”

Brick had shrugged. “It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

Boomer had shot him the most shit-eating smirk his babyface could manage. “… Maybe it’s because Blossom isn’t there?”

Needless to say, the only thing that had kept Boomer from becoming dust was the fact that Bubbles was pregnant. Brick had settled for a light punch, then.

Except, the more thought he gave to it, the more Boomer’s off-handed jeer made sense. And it seeped into his routine, making him add more weights to his dumbbells and speed up the treadmills in hopes of eliminating the treacherous idea.

The middle of May marked the time of an exercise they’d come up with to help her walking. The same hall they’d used to help her walk on his feet was now a track; he would stand her up on one end and wait for her on the other. Blossom would spread out her arms and use the wall for support to walk over to him, without the rolling walker. It was an idea he’d proposed when he noticed her steps had gotten sturdier, but she was still as afraid of falling as ever. Every time they tried, almost the same exact conversation repeated itself.

“I’m scared,” she admitted in a whimper, standing in the corner of the hall. If her fingers were any stronger, he guessed they would have pierced little holes in the wall.

“Don’t be scared!” He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Wow, gee, you sure did take my fear away,” Blossom groaned. “Would you look at that. That’s my fear, flying right out the window. I’m cured.”

Brick rolled his eyes. “Less sarcasm, more walking! C’mon, Icy, don’t be like this.”

“I can’t do this!” She hit her palm against the wall, brows furrowing into a knot. “What if I fall?”

“I’ll catch you! If you fall, I’ll catch you!” He swung his arms open, prompting her eyes to widen in shock.

He kept his arms up and in front of him, his tone marking a promise. “I’ll catch you, Blossom.”

Surely enough, Blossom swallowed thickly, pushing off the back wall to stand alone. Her ankles felt stiff, despite weeks of therapy weakening the atrophy and strengthening the muscle. Without the walker, her steps were shorter and quicker, as if dragging the soles of her feet over the floor. Brick watched with keen eyes as she got braver and closer, her paces longer and more secure. He was still holding his arms up just in case.

Time seemed to slow down as his thoughts broke into two parts. On one hand, he was overjoyed to see her take proper steps on her own; on the other, he was numbing down the sadness of leaving her. The very reason he wanted to see her walk as soon as possible was to make leaving feel like tearing off a band-aid – painful, but quick. Brick wondered if that made him a bad person, wanting to overstay his time with her.

The moment she stepped up to him was the moment Brick knew it did. It made him a horrible person.

Because when he felt her grab his arms, and when he lifted her to spin her around, and when he heard her giggle, Brick realized he didn’t want to leave her.

“I did it,” she yelled, laughing.

 _She did it_ , he nodded, unsure whether the tears in his eyes were from the overwhelming joy or the impending loneliness. Brick hid the sentiment behind a conversation about throwing a party, the one they’d talked about before.

Blossom spent the rest of the day talking out the arrangements with him, even though all he could think about was how much he’d miss her voice when he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	41. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blossom and Brick throw a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LONG LAST i post a new chapter  
> can you tell it's the one i loved writing the most so far?
> 
> this one almost took a month, and (hopefully) for good reason, so i'm sorry to all of you who were kept waiting ;_;
> 
> on an astoundingly positive note, this fic just recently reached over 10k hits and it blew my mind!!!!!!! a simple "thank you" can't properly express my gratitude, that's all i can say <3  
> as a kind of surprise for that, i've been cooking up another blossick fic for you but shhhh, it's not done yet and it's going to be a oneshot i intend to finish by the end of december (since that's when i'm on break hsfhldfksldf). a hint: it's gonna be a murder mystery oneshot
> 
> once again, thank you for all your support, comments and kudos! it means the world to me that someone enjoys my work enough to leave feedback <3 my social media is in the end note, feel free to reach out!!  
> //on to the chapter lmao

For the past few days, Butch had gotten awfully used to Buttercup’s company. Creative burnout from the album caught up to them, and apart from work, they mostly hung out at each others’ places.

At first, Buttercup was helping him process Brick’s trip to the hospital. It was clear he hated talking about it, and, upon finding a bit of herself in him, she realized he didn’t need a talk – he needed a distraction. Cue a whole day spent playing video games and music, ordering in, and talking about anything else. That day turned into another one when Butch knocked on her apartment door with the jacket she’d forgotten at his place. Soon enough, it had become habitual.

Buttercup equally loved and hated the part of her that was learning more about him.

In the morning, he was a grouch, mostly due to working late at _Joker’s_ , so speaking to him then was a “proceed at your own risk” endeavor. He was a sore loser when it came to video games, and his favorite was _Doom._ On the few times she’d convinced him to play _Super Smash Bros_ with her, he’d always pick Link, and then get royally pissed when she’d refuse to pick Zelda. He couldn’t stand movies, saying he couldn’t keep himself focused for long enough to follow through the plot, so they resorted to watching TV shows and cartoons. When they weren’t talking, they were singing or blasting their album at volumes which sent many a neighbors’ complaints their way. Not that they cared – the thing was climbing the charts much faster than they’d expected, landing them in the top twenty within two weeks of release.

Conversation topics were never hard to come by, what from work, what from life, what from childhood. He was the restless kind of kid, a handful to parents and teachers alike. He had five piercings in his right ear and six in his left. He had a scar on his knee from falling down a flight of stairs when he was twelve, and he intended to cover it up with a tattoo. That conversation spiraled into one about what types of tattoos they liked. Buttercup hated tattoos of lyrics or quotes, claiming that they’d eventually turn meaningless, and planned on getting some out of purely decorative purposes.

“What would you get?” She’d asked him when they were talking about it over a game of poker. She had a Full House – a very possible win.

“Don’t know,” he’d replied, lowering his hand to display a Royal Flush. He smirked victoriously. Damn it. “Something fuckin’ cool. Like a full sleeve of snakes or dragons or some shit.”

That hadn’t sounded like the world’s most immature idea when he’d said it with that goofy grin.

She couldn’t count on one hand how many times they’d hung out by the end of May. To add on, she couldn’t count the amount of meaningless little facts about him that had latched onto her front brain. The dreadful closeness burned her, but for some reason, she didn’t mind the warmth.

They spent the twenty-second at her place, with Butch waiting for her to get ready. A week ago, Blossom and Brick had invited them over for a party. She remembered how Butch had called it suspicious.

“What’s suspicious about having a party?” She’d asked him.

“Two things, Butts,” he had explained, “Either one: they’re revealing some big-ass news, or two: they’re announcing they’re together.”

She’d shrugged. “The second one wouldn’t be some big-ass news?”

Butch had scoffed. “You’re telling me you _aren’t_ expecting that, even a little?”

That question fled across her mind as she was putting on makeup for the party. Buttercup hated to admit that he wasn’t wrong, even though that’s where the conversation ended. However, _suspicious_ always implied something bad to her, so maybe that was what threw her off.

“Buttercup, can you give me my deodorant?” Butch yelled with a pound on the bathroom door, nearly making her drop the eyeliner brush.

She groaned and cracked open the door, handing him the tall bottle. To her surprise, Butch only gave a quiet “thanks” and left.

No low whistle at her outfit. No off-hand flirty comment. Not the god-awful nickname. Not even a once-over. Now _that_ was suspicious.

She quickly shook her head as she closed the door. Either she was just imagining things or being paranoid. No way in hell did his behavior bother her. In fact, maybe he finally learned to hold his tongue. Buttercup wasn’t fucking mad. She was supposed to be ecstatic.

Refusing to let his mood shift affect her excitement for the party, Buttercup hurried with her makeup. She finished two minutes later, and they were good to go. At least, as “good to go” as they were with how dreadfully quiet the ride in his car was. Aside from the radio blasting the music, there was nothing to calm the red lights now going off in her head. Butch said nothing.

* * *

Everything was going swimmingly, Brick decided as he handed Joseph a glass of wine. No one suspected a thing.

As chaotic the beginning of the day was, what with chores and what with baking a cake ( _and_ what with cleaning the mess they’d made with said baking), the two were satisfied with how it was going. Blossom’s apartment was tightly occupied with their guests. Bubbles and Boomer were itching for a visit since the day they’d come over to give Buzz back. Buttercup and Butch had surprised him with their insistence they’d come. Joseph and Dan had enthusiastically accepted, while the Professor had taken some light convincing. Brick had taken it upon himself to introduce everyone, which proved to be effective, given the chatty disarray of the living room.

Dan was currently engaging his brothers in small-talk, while Joseph and the Professor took off pretty quickly. Blossom’s sisters swarmed her in questions and gossip as he made sure everyone was doing well.

All in all, Brick couldn’t complain – the only thing he wasn’t prepared for was the announcement. Blossom told him she’d do it herself, but since the guests had arrived, she’d been sitting in the armchair without a word of said announcement. Had it not been for the reassuring smile she shot him when she’d caught him staring, he would have been worried. It only later clicked that none of the sisters made a remark about her hair being tied up, and he smiled with the giddiness of being in on an obvious secret.

“I’m surprised Robbie couldn’t come,” Bubbles commented over a glass of orange juice, “She’s usually the life of the party.”

“Me too,” Blossom agreed, “But she would’ve come if she could. Her finals are killing her right now.”

“What about Ms. Keane? I’m sure she would’ve found her company here,” Buttercup asked from her seat on the couch.

“She’s in Citysville up until the twenty-sixth. She took some kids to a junior league contest,” Blossom clarified.

“Keane as in Sandra Keane?” Joseph asked from the corner of the couch. “Haven’t seen her in centuries, how’s she doing?”

“Not as well as I thought,” the Professor shook his head, “The other day, I heard the Townsville Skating Society might lose its funding.”

“Tsk. They pull that rumor out same time every year, Mr. Utonium, it’s nothing new,” Brick cocked an eyebrow. “You’d think the media would come up with something new at this point.”

“Maybe,” the Professor hummed, “But this time they might have some proof to back it up.”

“Dad, it’s probably nothing to worry about,” Blossom waved it off, “And even if it is, I’m sure it’s nothing Coach Keane can’t handle.”

“You trust her quite a bit, Blossom?” Dan asked from his spot by the window.

“‘Trust’ doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Buttercup shook her head with a smile.

“Ms. Keane was her first coach, she’s the one who insisted on letting her join the society back when she started. She’s like, Blossom’s idol!” Bubbles continued.

Brick grinned. “I’ll make sure to pass that on.”

He received a swat to his shoulder from Blossom. “Don’t you dare! If anyone is ever gonna tell her, it’s gonna be me!”

“Oh yeah? And when’s that going to be, Ice Queen?” Brick continued.

She puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms. “When I get back on the ice, duh.”

“Bet I’ll tell her first.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Bet you won’t.”

“Will.”

“Won’t.”

“Will!”

“ _Won’t!_ ” Blossom slammed her fists on the armrests as she stood up.

A collective gasp filled the room and it dawned on both of them that the announcement had been made.

“Um,” Blossom scratched the back of her head, “Surpri-”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence as her sisters ambushed her back onto her seat in a pile of cheerful squeals. The armchair rocked with the effort to stay upright. Brick observed with a proud smile as all expressions in the room went from astounded to ecstatic. Butch nearly squeezed the life out of him when he pulled him, Boomer and Dan into a hug, and _no_ , he was _not_ bouncing around like a goddamn bunny. That was Buzz’s job. Brick was just so incredibly, overwhelmingly, outstandingly _happy_.

“Now, now, girls,” the Professor pretend-scolded, even though a sob was clearly stuck in his throat.

Bubbles laughed a “sorry” as she got up, pulling Buttercup and Blossom along with her. The three were still stuck in a hug, Buttercup’s perfect eyeliner smudged in lines down her cheeks.

“Aww, no, BC, don’t cry,” Blossom patted her back, even though she was crying too.

“Shut up,” Buttercup hicupped, “I’m not f-freakin’ crying.”

“Come on, come on,” Bubbles giggled, struggling to keep happy tears away and pull them to the bathroom, “Let’s go fix your makeup, we’ll be right back.”

The noisy bunch quieted down considerably, still in joyful wheezes. In a rather swift and confusing moment, Brick was caught in a bone-crushing hug by the Professor, and he had a fraction of a second to respond in turn. From the chair over the man’s shoulder, Joseph nodded his congratulations, the grin never leaving his lips.

* * *

After Bubbles’s overjoyed makeup fixing, the girls returned to the living room. What followed was a barrage of questions about what had happened and how, all of which Blossom answered through mouthfuls of Dan’s apple tart. Buttercup sat in the corner of the couch, happily throwing back her coke. Across from her, Butch had settled on the opposite edge, laughing at something Joseph had said. The sight of him made her stomach churn, and she pinched the bridge of her nose in search of an idea.

“… Brick, could you get me some more cake?” Buttercup stood from her seat and pocketed her hands.

The redheaded man gave her an odd look, before complying with a low “sure”.

With the chatter of the party, she didn’t have to worry much about keeping subtle as they moved to the kitchen area. Although she’d gotten that far, Buttercup couldn’t, for the life of her, find a way to ask him. Even thinking this up was an impulsive decision – she found she was making those quite a bit nowadays.

The moment Brick’s knife sunk into the chocolate cake, he seemed to have figured her out. Sliding the plate to her over the counter, he cocked an eyebrow. “You okay?”

She picked a fork from the drawer she remembered utensils were in. “Dunno.”

He hummed as he cut a piece for himself. “Is it about the album or?”

Between picking up her piece and taking a bite, she scoffed. “No… It’s about Butch.”

Brick cast a wary glance to the back of the couch, where Butch’s head was poking up from over the cushions. He seemed fine to Brick, but if Buttercup had picked up on something, he felt compelled to trust her. He wasn’t oblivious to their occasional hangouts (not that they were trying to be discreet), and it was hard to ignore the enthusiastic way Butch spoke about her. The only surprise he was prepared for was the eventual relationship – definitely not this concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Buttercup took another bite, mulling over her following words. “He’s been distant lately. Kinda lost, I don’t know. Something changed, but I don’t know what.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “And you are worried?”

She sputtered, nearly choking on her coke. “I’m n- I’m not worried, just…” A brief moment transpired, which she used to inhale deeply. “I’m not used to him acting like this, and I thought maybe you’d get it or whatever.”

Brick waited until he swallowed his bite to chuckle with disappointment. “My guess is as good as yours. He’s not as upfront as you are, that’s for sure, but if _you_ couldn’t have gotten him to talk about it by now, I don’t think I could, either.”

Her eyes widened in their drifting between the floor and the guy in question as she moved the pieces around her plate.

“You… _have_ asked him if something’s wrong, right?” Brick furrowed his brows.

“Well shit, I thought he was gonna tell me by himself!” Buttercup whisper-shouted, her shoulders flinching. “Apparently not.”

Stifling a laugh, he nudged her playfully. “Chill out. You can talk to him about it later. Just enjoy the party for now, I think that’s what he’d want you to do.”

With that, he rejoined the others, leaving Buttercup to stand by the kitchen counter and blankly stare at the couch. Judging by his expression as Blossom leaned on his shoulder, she wondered how much of his own advice Brick was really taking. She swallowed a teasing comment with the last piece of cake, choosing to follow the advice anyway.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay and help with the clean-up?” Bubbles asked for probably the millionth time as Blossom and Brick followed her and Boomer to the door.

The party had died down an hour or so ago, when the guests began to leave one by one. The first were the Professor, Joseph and Dan, stating that ‘kids these days deserved to party without old men hanging off of their shoulders’. Dan got a proper half-assed nudge for that comment, while Joseph incessantly congratulated Blossom and threw little unnoticeable winks Brick’s way. Shortly after they’d said their goodbyes, Buttercup and Butch left as well. This left Blossom and Brick to remind Bubbles that _no_ , they didn’t need any help, while Boomer gently patted her back to usher her out of the apartment.

Brick sighed in exasperation. “Bubbles, even if we needed some help, I wouldn’t ask you for it – you’re pregnant, for-”

“Brick!” Blossom shoved his shoulder. “What he means, Bubsy, is we can handle everything ourselves! And it’s late, anyway!”

“They’re right, honey,” Boomer rubbed the back of his neck, much to Bubbles’s discontented pouting.

“Alright then,” she shrugged before pointing a finger, “But we better go out for coffee sometime soon!”

“Definitely,” Blossom nodded, grinning, enveloping them both in a hug. “Thank you for coming, it was wonderful to see you!”

“Same here! Good night!” Boomer smiled.

“Good night!” Brick called out to the hall as the pair disappeared into the elevator.

Upon closing the door, Blossom lifted her arms above her head in a cat-like stretch. The movement sent her shirt bunching up around her shoulders and elbows. A quiet yawn left her, and Brick smiled.

“Tired?” he asked.

She nodded as she lowered her arms. “You have no idea.”

Chuckling, he put a hand to her shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a bath? I can handle the dishes.”

Her eyebrows rose before furrowing up at him. “But I wanna-”

“I’ll handle everything, don’t worry,” he refused to relent, already pushing her lightly to the bathroom door.

Blossom shook her head at him, laughing all the way. “You’re impossible.”

“But I thought I was Hothead?”

She hummed, lingering in the doorway. “Fine, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure.”

With that, he left her to bathe and began to collect the dishes littering the living room. The fact that they used paper plates for the cakes saved him a lot of time, even though there were still dishes from the dinner they’d prepared. Brick got to work as soon as he heard the water running in the bathroom.

Something Boomer had mentioned through the night stuck to the back of his mind, and the soap running over his hands brought it to the surface again. They were recounting college life, and Boomer said that nothing had felt more natural than living with Bubbles. _Even in our first year_ , he said, _we got along so well it was unbelievable. Ever since the first day, we were inseparable._

The statement, of course, induced a few _aw_ ’s and a couple of joking belches before the topic passed over to another, but the word he used clung to his mind and refused to fuck off.

Inseparable. For someone as commitment-phobic as Brick was, he expected the word to start up his gag reflex as soon as it passed his lips. However, what he hadn’t expected was for his eyes to flick toward Blossom, and for his chest to bloom over in inexplicable warmth. That second passed quickly enough for him to catch himself and panic momentarily, tuning into the next conversation as fast as he could to get out of his head.

His hands began to prune under warm water while he got stuck in contemplation of other things. There was a studio apartment downtown he was supposed to be checking out in two days. There was a pile of clothes waiting to be packed. There was a dog already snoring on the couch, which he would regretfully have to wake up in order to make his bed. And there was a girl on the other side of the bathroom door, peacefully taking a bath, while he was ripping his insides out trying to think of a way to say he was leaving.

Brick bit his tongue as the tip of knife he’d been cleaning poked his thumb under the sponge. He had it fucking horrible. Why did he have to tell her about that? Why couldn’t he just fuck off one day and leave her to wonder if they’d ever even met? Why couldn’t he just fucking-

Something warm loosely wrapped around his midsection while something else thudded against the space between his shoulder blades. Instinctively tensing up, Brick looked down, only to find a familiar pair of pajama-clad arms around his waist. Amid the smell of detergent, there was a scent of cherries, and his pruning hands stopped in their endeavor. The low kitchen light cast two shadows to the tiled floor.

“You okay?” he asked, hoping to all heavens and hells she couldn’t hear the flurry in his voice.

In response, she dug her forehead into its spot on his back, and he could hear her hum contentedly. “’m good,” she said.

“Good. Go to bed, I’ll get the rest done.”

Brick felt her arms squeeze just a bit tighter, now properly hugging him from behind. “Can’t sleep without you.”

The implication sent pink rushing to his cheeks and thoughts running wild. It took more effort than he’d like to admit to think up a witty response. “Then you won’t be sleeping anytime soon – I gotta pack.”

“ _Pack?_ ” she questioned, standing on her tippy-toes to look at him over his shoulder. “For what?”

 _Shit._ Brick seethed in a breath upon realizing he’d blurted out what was meant to be a conversation for another time. Every ounce of him wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Didn’t even matter if it spit him out into the fucking Amazonia, as long as he wasn’t there to have this talk with her. Sighing, he realized the probability of that happening was disappointingly low, and prepared his reply.

“I’m moving out,” he explained.

“Since when?” she countered.

“Since… the start of this deal?”

Her arms loosened around him, and she leaned her head back between his shoulder blades. Between the shuffling of her cheek over his shirt and the tap still running, he almost didn’t hear it when she spoke in a hushed tone.

“But I want you to stay.”

His eyes widened. Turning off the water, Brick rubbed his soapy hands on a dishrag and twisted to face her. He examined her flushed face, staring up at him as if he were something precious.

“Blossom, are you drunk?”

“I didn’t drink at all tonight! I’m not drunk, I swear!” She giggled, looking up at him with weary eyes. “Here, smell my breath if you don’t believe me.”

Leaning down, he did as she said, and was glad to sniff only toothpaste. He dug his fingers into the edge of the countertop, hoping his heart wouldn’t beat out of his chest with the way she was still hugging him.

“You don’t need a caregiver anymore. You don’t need me, you can walk now.” He struggled hard with the stiff position he was in, struggled harder to keep his hands to himself. “I figured that when you could walk again, I’d move out and we’d go back to… to…”

“To what?” she asked.

He swallowed, eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

“Brick.”

The strictness in her tone made him shift to look at her again. It lowered to an uncertain mumble, along with her gaze as it traveled anywhere but across his face.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she explained, her fingers scratching trails on the back of his shirt. “But I wish you would.”

Brick never thought that five simple words could make him as relieved or happy as he was now. His mouth opened with an unsounded gasp, too worried that if he were to make a sound, the moment would prove to have been a dream. He found courage to rip his arms away from his sides and instead slouch to hug her back, with his chin comfortably resting atop her head. The scrape of her nails against his back, the one from his “Best Feelings Ever” list, came back. She smelled like cherries and sleep and something else he couldn’t name, though he was pretty sure it started with an ‘L’.

“You sure?” he asked, his croaky voice bordering on a hiccup.

He felt warmth where her face was buried into his chest – she was laughing. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Brick snorted a laugh. “I think you’re just tired.”

Blossom imitated him. “I think you’ll just have to see in the morning.”

He allowed himself to hold on just a little tighter and sway slowly, as if lulling a child. “We’ll see, Icy,” he said, “We’ll see.”

* * *

Starting conversations was not Buttercup’s forte. She could talk for hours and hours about her favorite crime shows or video games or music, but she couldn’t start that talk if her life depended on it.

The drive to her place was quieter than the one from it, and it deeply unnerved her. Butch unnerved her. It was as if the universe was deliberately fucking with her, given how many stoplights they’d had to stop for, thus prolonging the ride in tense silence. He hadn’t said a word to her aside from little quips from the party, and those could’ve been said to anyone. It wasn’t like him. Like the Butch she was used to.

“I’m really happy for Blossom,” she blurted out purposelessly.

A smile tugged on the side of his face. “Yeah, me too.”

That’s as far as that conversation went, and it infuriated her.

Buttercup began to go down an exhaustive list of reasons why he would be mad at her. It couldn’t have been about the album – that was going well for them. She questioned every comment, every joke, _every single thing_ she’d said to him for the past few days, only to come up empty-handed. Nothing added up.

The weight that heaved in her chest shifted when they arrived to her complex. The car stopped in the parking lot, but she hesitated to open the door. He wasn’t saying goodbye, and he wasn’t looking at her. Butch wasn’t done.

She was.

“Thanks for the ride,” she moved to leave, but stopped short at the way he shook his head.

He inhaled, tapping the steering wheel. “Buttercup, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Settling back into the passenger seat, she carefully observed the rise of his shoulders as he breathed. There was a pause, during which she was going through every worst-case scenario that came to mind. None of them could have prepared her for the words that came next.

“If we win,” he turned to look at her for the first time that night, “I want you to take the full prize.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	42. Say Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Butch opens up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you smell that? it's the Angsttm
> 
> so lovely to update again! i'm currently on a break from school so i took my time rewriting this.... five times..... while also working on the reds oneshot (coming soon!!) and some personal projects
> 
> the amount of support still overwhelms me, thank you for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks <3
> 
> on to the hurt bit, hope you enjoy :D

“If we win, I want you to take the full prize.”

For a moment there, she took him seriously. That couldn’t have been right, so Buttercup snorted. “Yeah, right. Nice one, Bitch. We’re in the Top Ten’s now and we’re probably staying there when we split th-”

“No.” Butch interrupted her. “I’m being serious. I don’t want the three-year contract.”

Her fingers twitched into the side of the seat as her teeth clenched. The street lights reflecting in his watery eyes made her hesitate long enough to wonder if she’d heard him right. The reality of the situation and the gravity of his statement hit her slower than she’d like to admit, but it was more painful than she’d imagined. Something stung where her heart should be, and she snuck another cautious glance his way.

When Butch didn’t correct himself, her palm connected to his cheek in a sharp _slap_.

He didn’t even react. His head tilted in the motion akin to a ragdoll being thrown around. The redness on his cheek must’ve burned – _good_ , Buttercup thought, _he deserves it._

His lack of reaction bothered her. What kind of fight was it if one stood and just took the beating? She wanted him to scream, to slap her back, hell, _throw her out of the car himself_ – that would at least mean he said that impulsively, that he was riled up and it would leave him a good fight later. But he didn’t, he was serious. And it made her more furious than she’d ever been.

When he turned away, she dealt him another slap, this time earning herself one. The hit sounded off in the stale-aired car, and it made her pause only briefly enough to pack a punch to his shoulder. He defended himself with a kick to her shin and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Stop it!” He yelled.

“No, fuck you!” She hit his hands away. “You wanna leave? Fight me for it!”

Butch gave her hair a thorough pull, eliciting a wince. “I don’t _want_ to fight you! I want you to take the full prize!”

“And I want you to stop acting like a dumbass!” In a twist, she swiveled her head to bite his hand, belching at the taste of sweat and enjoying his growl a little too much. “Are you fucking serious, Butch? You want to give up before we even got there?!”

“I’m not getting anywhere!”

His balled fists shook in front of him, the choked-out sob stopping her dead in her tracks. She stared at him with wide eyes, taking in the disturbed sound she hoped she’d never hear again. And here she was, causing it herself.

“Don’t you fucking get it?! I’m not worth it, Buttercup!” His voice cracked between a cry and a shout. “All I do is drag everyone down! You’re better off without me, I don’t want to…”

The windows fogged up with the warmth of their breathing and the exertion of yelling. His sentence might as well have been another slap. She clenched her jaw, contemplating her options. There weren’t many, but one stuck in her mind as a chance to understand.

“Drive.” She said, crossing her arms and facing the road.

She swore she heard him sniffle, but made no comment about it. “Wha-”

“ _Drive._ ” Buttercup all but commanded. “If you can’t, I will, just…”

An unspoken “don’t go” hung in the air, unwilling to be said by either of them.

Butch inhaled, clearing his eyes of those goddamn tears, and wrapping his hands around the steering wheel. “Where to?”

He took her lack of reply as a “wherever” and gladly complied.

They were thrown into a bout of silence similar to the one before, except it was more thoughtful, more dedicated to the elephant in the room. The starless sky wasn’t a sight to behold on a night like this, but it would have to do. One could easily mistake the lights of the city for starlight, and Buttercup let herself imagine them to be. Butch drove around the city three, four times, restlessness oozing off of him and uncertainty lingering in his expression. As though he refused to meet her eyes, he kept them on the road, oblivious to her analytical stare.

Part of her was trying to figure out how they ended up like this, part of her was fascinated by the lights dancing in his watery eyes.

By the time they rounded the city for the fifth time, she heard his breathing slow to a relaxed rhythm. As he pulled up to her apartment building once again, Buttercup knew it was now or never, and it depended on her not messing up… whatever the “it” in question was.

“… What brought this on?” she asked.

Butch put his head in his hands, leaning forward in the seat. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you’re this worked up over it, it matters. It matters to me, but…” It took all her courage to put her hand on his leg, the touch eliciting a sudden flinch. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he reiterated, “You can’t help. It’s personal.”

“Butch,” she insisted, “If there’s anything I learned from living with sisters, it’s that nothing is so personal no one can help you overcome it.”

“See, that’s the problem.” He wiped away incoming tears with his wrists. “You know what that’s like, to have your sisters with you through fucking everything, and I…”

Buttercup would have begun something along the lines of “that wasn’t the point I was trying to make”, had she not understood it as him slowly opening up. She let him speak, rubbing comforting circles over his knee. He hiccupped, gathering his thoughts into what he deemed a comprehensible explanation.

“It’s bullshit, it’s irrelevant, I…” Butch leant his forehead on the steering wheel. “I was digging around the little storage we have for the things from our old place, when we were still kids, and… I found my Mom’s letters to my Dad when he was away at some business trip. And they… they didn’t even fucking mention me in any of them. Checked some others, too… barely anything, like I didn’t fucking exist. The few that do mention me are just sharp reprimands.”

A gasp caught in her throat, but she willed it down to let him continue.

“It’s just… Brick and Boomie, fucking hell. I don’t…” He rubbed his temple, still not finished. “Brick was Dad’s golden child, the Jojo heir, the motherfucking best boy. Boomer was a mama’s boy, Mom’s little fashionista, she was fucking ecstatic when he developed an interest in art. They’re the favorite kids, but… I’m the stupid problem middle child no one wants to deal with. I’m no one’s favorite, I…”

Before she could stop herself, her arms latched around his shoulders, hands coming together to cup his tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re _my_ favorite, stupid!” She screamed.

His mouth stood agape in sheer shock, unable to formulate any reasonable response. Buttercup continued.

“Fuck! Do I have to beat it into you?! Tell you I want you to stay with me _on purpose_?! That I’m friends with you _on purpose_?! Bitch, if I wanted you to go, I’d send you to God on same-day express prime shipping, no hesitation! But I _don’t_!” She pulled her hands back, only to form fists and bang them on the dashboard. “Shit, what happened to letting go and moving on? Would you really just let me go like that?!”

“Buttercup, I didn’t-”

“No, shut up! I’m not finished! Do you know what happened tonight?!” Buttercup swung her arms open. “The first person I asked to help me tonight when I saw you in this mood was Brick! He knew you’d tell me if something bothered you! I’d bet my right arm Boomer would have told me the same, so don’t you _dare_ tell me your brothers don’t love you or wouldn’t help you!”

She heaved, cheeks red and eyes unrelenting. “Butch Jojo, you’re my fucking favorite. Don’t underestimate yourself, and for the love of fuck, don’t leave me yet.”

People say that, in the last moments before one’s death, they relive their life in seven seconds. Buttercup wasn’t sure how that would feel, until she was met with the silence that followed her heartfelt rambling. Time slowed with each bated breath, and she was internally begging him to say anything, even something stupid, just to stomp out the fire burning her cheeks and insides.

Much to her frustration, Butch was quiet. She swore she could hear the gears turning in his head, but only stared him down as if her stare’s sheer power could coax him into speaking.

Finally, he swallowed deeply. “… I don’t know what to say, I’ve never been yelled at so positively before.”

 _Of course_ he had to joke, and _of course_ that warranted a light punch to his shoulder.

“Jerk,” she snickered.

“Ouch, be careful,” he pretend-wailed over his shoulder, “You’ve got a mean right hook, woman.”

“What’s that about wanting me to take the full prize again?”

Butch threw his head back, chuckling. “Hm, I might reconsider if you give me a hug?”

“I’ll do you one better.”

Buttercup grinned before moving to sit on top of him in the driver’s seat. At first, it was an awkward tangle of limbs, soft laughter filling up the cracks they’d made in the uncomfortable atmosphere. A few adjustments later, he nestled his head in the crook of her neck, appreciating the scratch of her fingers on his scalp and closing his arms around her waist. Buttercup could smell his deodorant, reminiscent of pine, and wondered how long they’d stay like this. She could feel him sigh contentedly into her shirt, and realized that the intrusive, sudden hope for “forever” didn’t seem so bad.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“No,” she shook her head, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha hurt/comfort go brr
> 
> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	43. The Little Star Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Coach Keane finds out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me so long to update and i hate it here-
> 
> anyways school is messing me up so badly that i barely get time to write my original's wips, let ALONE my fanfics- nvm let me just seethe and write
> 
> thank you ever so much for your support, it means so much to me even when i go offline for so long <3 starting 2021 with chapter 43 feels kind of refreshing, i hope you all have a wonderful year!!

The next day, Blossom helped Brick unpack fully, and three days later, he’d grown fully used to living with her. The change in his attitude was obvious in the way he strutted casually around the apartment, as if that’s where he belonged, and Blossom would never admit it, but she noticed. She couldn’t forget the happy glint in his eye when they went shopping, as if he wasn’t shopping for someone else anymore, but for them.

She found she couldn’t imagine her apartment without him in it. The space didn’t seem nearly as hollow as she remembered it.

The movie nights never stopped, and their quarrels over the movie choices seemed draining until one of them relented. Whether she won or not didn’t matter – she’d always end up sandwiched between him and the couch seat, her head on his heaving chest and his hand tracing absent-minded circles in her hair.

When she won, however, she liked to keep track of his reaction to each scene she could remember. Not because she wanted to get into his head, but because of the soft way light reflected onto his face and how peaceful he looked from that angle. She’d get to catch a glimpse of him when he was worn out, tired beyond compare and still somehow holding her. On the rare occasion when she’d get caught in the act, Brick would initiate a tickle fight, which would usually end either with him making her admit to staring or her tickling back so mercilessly he had no other choice but give in. And as he would wheeze to ward off the laughter, Blossom would think that, even with their meaningless spouts, she wouldn’t trade him for the world.

The words “we” and “us” tickled her throat every time they slipped from her mouth, threatening to mean something more than just a roommate. Blossom furiously denied it, but living with him was surprisingly enjoyable, considering the rocky start they’d had.

Since that night, a lot of things had changed in their schedule. She signed up for a membership at the same gym he worked out in, and more often than not, they’d go together. Most days were leg days, in order for her to regain the muscle power, but she paid him back by being his spotter for weightlifting. After that, they’d either take Buzz for a walk or go out for food, or, on rare occasions where restaurants allowed pets, both.

A day of cleaning brought up the discussion of her returning to the ice, when Brick was rearranging his closet and accidentally stumbled upon one of her leotards.

“Coach Keane came back yesterday. I was thinking about surprising her, too, but pulling the same trick feels cheap,” Blossom had shrugged.

“I think I have an idea. We could sneak you into one of her lessons before she arrives,” Brick had suggested.

“How? Her lessons are the earliest ones, she starts before any other coach at TSS.”

Brick crossed his hands like a man with a plan. “What if I told you I have an extra set of keys?”

Her mouth opened in disbelief until it bloomed into a grin. “No way.”

“Mhm.” As if to prove himself, he fished his key ring out of his pocket, slyly brandishing one in particular. Her eyes followed the movement, and he explained, his voice riddled with amusement. “Made a copy when I ‘forgot’ something in the locker room and asked Coach Parker to go get it.”

“Oh you’re _sneaky_ ,” she laughed.

He spun the key ring around his index finger. “I prefer ‘surreptitious’, actually. So, what now, Icy?”

And that was how Blossom ended up hiding in the TSS’s skating centre’s changing room.

She wondered if this was how perverts felt while hiding behind lockers, because she couldn’t wait for the pupils to leave the place. This must’ve been the pre-teen group, she judged by their stature. Their chatter ignited a sense of nostalgia within her, when they would whisper among themselves about the Coach’s strictness and the move they were _this_ close to mastering. Blossom smiled to herself, clutching her gear just a touch tighter.

As soon as the doors shut, she was sprinting to her preferred seat in the corner. She thought she’d never gotten ready for the ice as quickly as she had done now. All that was left was for Brick to swing the doors open with Coach Keane and find her there, but her eagerness had her pressing an ear to the cold metal. Brick was supposed to be outside, tricking the coach into opening the door, but what she overheard was more alarming than anything she might have expected.

“So it’s true?” Brick’s voice came as if it were disturbed. “TSS is getting defunded?”

She dug her nails into her palm to keep from making a sound.

Who she assumed was Coach Keane sighed. “Don’t be so loud. We only received a notice from the mayor’s office. Because of the Rotts’ loss at your last game, the mayor is only _considering_ defunding Townsville Skating Society.” Here, Blossom assumed the Coach gulped to calm her nerves. “I managed to convince him to at least let the figure skaters hold the Summer Solstice Skating Gala, but if that doesn’t raise enough funds to pay off that darn tax, then it’s official. TSS and all the sports it houses will be gone.”

Blossom couldn’t help the tiniest of gasps from escaping her mouth.

“Do you think they’ll be able to do it?” Brick asked. “The figure skaters, I mean.”

“Who knows,” Coach Keane said, “the Gala is on the twenty-first, maybe we’ll be ready by then… My hopes aren’t too high, though.”

Something shifted, Blossom could tell from the change in Brick’s tone. “I think I have the perfect solution for you, Coach.”

She swore she could almost hear Coach Keane’s head turning. “Really? You do?”

“I do.” She assumed Brick grinned. “It’s right behind that door, actually.”

Before the Coach could push, Blossom pulled away from the door, straightening herself up. This was it.

The rink’s lights nearly blinded her as she adjusted her eyes to the two figures standing in front of her. There was an audible inhale as the Coach’s shoulders flinched in surprise.

“Blossom!” The Coach all but ran toward her, her arms flailing out to hug her. A sob was stuck in her throat as Blossom hugged back.

“It’s me,” she laughed, bending down to rest her head against the shorter woman’s shoulder.

“You’re standing!” Coach Keane pulled away, her hands on Blossom’s shoulders trembling with shock. Her eyes, glossy with tears, crinkled in the widest smile she could manage. “You’re back!”

Blossom had to hold back joyful tears of her own by nodding. “I am, I am.”

A glance back at Brick and she’d caught him making quick work of looking away. He cleared his throat more jokingly than anything, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“But… How did this happen?” Coach Keane asked, turning from one to the other.

“Long story,” Blossom said, rubbing the back of her neck, “I’d rather tell it to you over coffee or something, Coach.”

“Oh, Little Star, I’d love to,” she smiled, “But my practice term just started! Maybe later…? Oh, wait – would you like to join us, maybe?”

Blossom’s shoulders shot up, “Oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Brick added, “That way we’d see how much you remember. You’d figure out your starting point.”

“‘Starting point’?”

“You know, if you want to keep skating. You’ll probably have to start over everything you’ve learned because of muscle atrophy.”

“He’s got a point, Blossom,” Coach Keane shrugged before turning to him, “But do you think she could learn it all before Summer Solstice Gala?”

It was Brick’s turn to shrug. “Only one way to find out,” he said, nodding his head towards the rink where the group was still standing in a perfect line.

Both of their eyes were back on Blossom, and she felt an indiscernible shudder run through her. It was the thrill of trying and the fear of failing creeping up over her again, a feeling she remembered as the one from her first time stepping on the ice. It was then that the spiral of her thoughts began to turn, considering every option to infallible detail. Just when she thought the fear would crush her, a hand on her shoulder reminded her of reality.

Her view trailed back up to its owner – Brick. The message was one he’d told her more times than she could count. _How will you know if you never try?_

“I’ll go with you, if you want,” he muttered as if it was only for her to hear.

It was enough to make her say yes and step out of the locker room.

Her ankles felt wobbly as she put on the skates and took off the blade guards at the entrance of the rink. Suddenly, it was vaster than ever before, filled with possibility and promises of trial, error and success. The ice hissed underneath her as she followed Brick’s lead, still holding on to the railing. The curious eyes of other pupils melted away under the influence of Brick’s careful handling of her. His gloved hand took hers freely enough to experiment yet tightly enough to protect her from falling. When she finally let the railing go, they shared a glance, and Coach Keane smiled to herself.

The Coach clapped her hands. “Alright, students, as usual – five rounds around the rink, this time take care to avoid the lovebirds.”

Whatever enchantment Blossom had fallen under cracked. “Lovebirds?!”

“Pardon, Little Star and The Bludgeoner over here.” The Coach couldn’t resist the teasing glint in her eye, and it took Blossom way back. Instead of trying to defend her case, Blossom shook her head. It was good to know some things never changed, including Coach Keane’s attitude.

The ice seemed to be gliding underneath her, rather than the other way around. Her knees, as if made of toothpicks, refused to bend and made her skate stiffly. All rational thought told her there was nothing to fear, that it was ice, that she was safe – yet everything was overshadowed by anxiety. Students passed them by and their speed made her grow dizzy. She tried not to wonder if they were looking.

Teeth gritted and shoulders set, she held onto Brick’s hand with the force of a man holding on to a cliff’s edge and trying not to fall. Because that’s what it was – trying not to fall.

“Stop holding your breath,” he reminded her, forcing her back to reality.

She leveled his concerned gaze with one of confusion before inhaling deeply. He was right, she had been holding her breath.

“Careful now, relax,” he said, intertwining their fingers, “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

Blossom couldn’t count on one hand how many times he’d told her that, but with every repeat, she found herself believing him a bit more. She allowed her fingers to loosen between his, taking a more confident stride. Before she knew it, Brick had let her go, and she was skating freely.

It was everything and more – it was reliving a memory of shaky knees and frost-bitten lips and days spent training. As bittersweet as it was, Blossom didn’t mind it, as long as she kept skating.

“Nicky, practice your spins! Sasha, pick up speed or so help me god I’ll make you demonstrate the lutzes!” Coach Keane commanded over the students.

“Coach!” Blossom called out to get her attention.

The Coach turned and crossed her arms. “Great, now stop!”

Even though she’d heard her well, Blossom flailed, suddenly aware that even though she finally remembered how to start, she didn’t remember how to, well… stop.

Hearing her distressed squeals, Brick skated over a few steps ahead of her. She crashed into him, making them land ass-first on the ice and the students erupt into laughter.

Hovering over him, she blushed at least fifteen shades of red and spewed apology after apology. Brick, however, only joined the students in cackling at the situation.

“Let’s hope you’re as good at skating as you are at falling,” Coach Keane skated over, offering a hand for her to get up, “Otherwise I’ll have to keep my hopes for TSS lower than I thought.”

“Oh ha-ha, Coach,” Brick rolled his eyes and standing up on his own, “Your chances of keeping TSS up are small, however, if you announce the return of the notorious Ice Queen using the Gala…”

The Coach’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Maybe, but with how she skates now-”

Blossom didn’t like how that sentence started, and she was surely going to hate how it ended.

“I can do it!”

She’d surprised them both into silence by yelling.

“I’ve had enough of conditions and what-ifs and by-thens,” she admitted, feeling a mixture of rage and bitterness coiling inside her. Her nails dug into her palms. Determination flashed in diamond-pink eyes.

“I’m going to do it. I don’t care what it takes – I’m going to train harder than ever and I’m going to skate at the Summer Solstice Gala.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	44. The Rant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a hyperactive dog is a hyperactive dog and a hacker is morally grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no chapter but i'm BACK with a new chapter  
> ugh between MS Teams meetings and college preps it feels so good to write -
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter loves <3 thank you so much for your continuous support :D

“Buzz! Get back here, you- no, don’t touch tha- UGH!”

Buttercup bent at the waist, completely out of breath, as Buzz continued to run aimlessly around her living room. She _swore_ she was never dog-sitting for Brick again, no matter the reason.

Last night, Brick called her for a favor, asking her to let Buzz stay at her place for a while, until they surprised Coach Keane in the morning. Buttercup mistakenly thought it was easy, that they’d be back before she knew it, that Buzz would be a joy to dog-sit. _Mistakenly_.

Not minding one bit, she’d happily accepted and wished them luck in the early morning before they left. And as soon as the door was closed, this dog turned into a hurricane.

She gave him treats. She gave him a good chew-toy. She gave him the most enthusiastic belly-rub the German Shepherd had ever received. Despite all of that, the dog was determined to take her on a marathon of her life. Her apartment may have been small, but Buttercup guessed she’d reached her daily step count five times over by now. It’s been about an hour, and she could scarcely feel her feet.

Giving up, she fell back on her creaky living chair, taking the deepest breath her tired lungs could manage.

She smelled rather than heard an absolutely _rancid_ fart, composed and performed by Buzz In The Corner. The smile-like way his tongue lolled out of his mouth told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

Upon getting up and walking over, she came to realize it wasn’t _just_ a fart. Buttercup resisted a gasp in favor of keeping her sense of smell, cupping her mouth in a disgusted gag. Obviously proud of himself, Buzz proceeded to rise and point his snout at the pile of shit. He barked with the joy of a child showing off their latest abstract crayon masterpiece on a pristine white wall.

Rolling her eyes and refusing to sigh, she came to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be able to clean it up with the dog running wild. Buttercup needed help. She dug her phone out of the couch as Buzz began another round, her eyes following his every move while the line rang.

A groan greeted her at the other end. “Fuck you want this late?”

“It’s nine in the morning _,_ Mitch.”

“So?” He asked and she would bet he was rubbing his eyes, insomniac that he was.

“Can you come over?” She said, “I’ve got a situation.”

“BC, if you don’t need help hiding a body-”

“I’ll buy you ramen.”

“Say less. Be there in fifteen. Do I need to bring something?”

Buttercup shook her head in amused disbelief, smiling and telling him to bring plastic bags. She opened the window in hopes of getting at least _some_ of the smell out.

True to his word, Mitch was at her door in no less than fifteen minutes. His signature hoodie and laptop bag hung off him like he would rather be somewhere else, namely his bed. She admired his ability to get anywhere on time just shortly enough to let him step in. The moment he did, the grimace on his face told her everything about the power of the stink.

“What are you doing here? Teaching a ferret to fart?!” Mitch whined, pinching his nose.

“Close enough,” she laughed, the aforementioned “ferret” coming to greet the guest with a hearty bark.

Mitch was left to “aww” at the dog and give him scratches while Buttercup went to get the cleaning supplies. She took the bags he got her, stepping out with a pair of cleaning gloves and old, wet rags.

Her two guests moved over to the couch as she got to work throwing out the dog shit and scrubbing the tiles. Minutes later, the stink was gone and so was the brown stain on the floor. She sat with Mitch after getting him his “payment” and a can of _Sprite_ for them both. Buzz, apparently worn out as well, claimed the living chair.

“So, why’d you call me?” Mitch asked, crossing his legs in a makeshift place for his laptop.

Buttercup popped her can open, careful not to let it fizz over. “What do you mean? I called you to help me tame Buzz while I cleaned up his mess.”

Mitch coughed a laugh at Buzz’s dismissive sniff. “You and I both know that’s not the reason,” he cocked an eyebrow at her and opened his can, “Something’s bothering you.”

She seethed, opting to stare at the ceiling. “I hate that you know it.”

“I’m just that good.” Mitch shrugged, turning on his laptop. “So, tell your bestie.”

“It’s super dumb,” she groaned.

“It’s about Butch, isn’t it?” He teased, but got serious when she shot him a look of confirmation. “Oh my god, it is?”

Buttercup appreciated how he could hear her out without making any comments or insisting on eye contact. She could ramble for hours, with no pressure and no guilt, knowing he was listening to her by the occasional hum of interest.

She began talking about the other night, the fight that broke out and settled itself within minutes. She told him about Butch’s idea of giving up the prize. She conveniently avoided his meltdown about his parents, purely out of respect – it was too personal for her to share with anyone. For fuck’s sake, looking back on it, he _confided_ in her!

After a considerably long rant with far too many “why the fuck”s and “what the hell”s, she turned to Mitch. “- And it was just so stupid! …What do you think?”

He looked at the bottom of his can, noncommittally turning it in his hand. “Not gonna lie, I think you’re both stupid.”

It was only his luck Buttercup didn’t want to damage his laptop by punching him off the couch. “What? Why?”

Mitch stretched his fingers, his knuckles popping with the movement. “Because if you won the prize as a formed duo and then split up about a year after the contest, you’d both get to keep the full six-year contract.”

He continued to type away as Buttercup stared at him. “How?”

“I’ll tell you if you give me another _Sprite_ and add a _Monster_ to the ramen bargain from before.” He leaned on his elbow, pouting teasingly.

She swore her eyes were getting sore from how often she rolled them. “Caffeine addicts,” she commented under her breath as she rose from the couch and got him another _Sprite._

He grinned and laughed like a giddy kid before popping the drink open and continuing. “Okay, _so –_ the thing with that legal loophole is also in the contract you oh-so-carefully read. Basically, contestants who joined in the contest as a duo or a band can keep the full six-year contract if, and _only_ if, they split up after a year.” He took his first sip for dramatic effect. “If the split is any sooner than three hundred and sixty-five days, the contract with _YTR_ is terminated.”

Buttercup hummed. “So if we split up before then, we won’t even be able to fall back on the half of the prize?”

“Yep,” Mitch replied, turning the screen to her. “You can read the whole thing here for yourself, but that’s basically it.”

“But we’re signed on as separate contestants. You telling me this can’t solve anything.”

“Except it can.” He meaningfully lifted his eyebrows. “If I alter you guys’ contest applications before the end of May, before the end of the contest, you can pull this off and walk away a year later with a five-year contract.”

“So, hacking and scamming? Real nice, Mitch.” Buttercup returned his meaningful stare with a tone of sarcasm.

“It is nice, though – think about it. If you let me do it, you can have that and just split after a year. Make up a fight, a misunderstanding – ” he gasped – “an _affair!_ ”

“ _No-_ ”

“Kidding, kidding…” Mitch groaned, totally not kidding. “But I’m serious, if you two let me switch up some of the stuff in their database, you could have this.”

She sipped her half-empty _Sprite_. “If you don’t fuck up, that is.”

He huffed. “I never got caught and you know it.”

She shrugged. “Never say never.”

Mitch leaned back on his side, slapping a hand over his eyes in exasperation. “Dude, now is not the time to play morally correct. I think you should talk to Butch about it before you win.”

She choked on her drink, coughing out a question. “Win?”

“You… do realize you two have been topping the charts, right?” He turned the screen and opened _Twitter_. “First you blew up over ‘The Mighty Fall’, and now a certain Princess Morbucks skated a routine to one of your songs.”

“ _Who_ did _what-_ ” She didn’t have the time to finish her question when Mitch showed her the video.

To the tune of an instrumental she and Butch composed, Princess Morbucks was gliding across the ice in Citysville’s Ice Arena. As impressive as the performance was, Buttercup bit her lip with resentment.

“I don’t want anything to do with her. Report it.” She ground her teeth, narrow eyes following elegant movements.

“Are you crazy?! She’s like, super popular! Basically an influencer!”

“I don’t care. Report it. I don’t give a fuck if it doesn’t get taken down, just report it.”

“Sheesh, what’d she do to you?”

“Nothing to me, but everything she could to Blossom. Close enough,” she explained briefly.

Mitch’s phone beeped and he glanced at it as he packed his laptop. “Damn, that’s a can of worms I’d love to open, but I’ll have to do it another time. Someone ordered fuckin’ pizza for breakfast, apparently.”

“God I wish that were me,” she yawned. “Thanks for helping me out, Snitch-Mitch.”

“No problem, Butters.”

He got up and she followed him to the door. “Tell Butch about the contract thing, though.”

“Sure, sure.”

As he stepped out of the apartment, Mitch laughed over his shoulder. “If not for the contract, then for the sexual tension, oof-”

And he narrowly missed a house slipper thrown at him.

Buzz ran after it, fetching the slipper and receiving pats of congratulation from Buttercup. “Good boy, Buzz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj


	45. Coffee At The Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buttercup's night shift is interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOP EARLY UPDATE
> 
> i crammed it all because next week is gonna be hellish for school so ~(-0-)~ catch me dying on monday  
> i really felt the need to write this out though, in between school work and college preps, my wips are the only thing keeping me sane (including your awesome support <3)
> 
> thank you so much for reading :D

Buttercup decided to indulge Mitch’s thought for the sake of her current boredom.

She rarely took on the night shift simply because “who the fuck wants _Lava Java_ ’s weak-ass coffee at three in the morning?” This time, however, Max’s plea was tempting enough to say yes.

The freckle-faced idiot asked her if she could cover his night shift so he could go out clubbing with his girlfriend for their anniversary. Despite not understanding the appeal of such a celebration, Buttercup accepted when he’d said he’d pay her in all his breaks for the following two weeks and a day off he’d scheduled two months back. While his bartering with the other coworkers fell on deaf ears because of such short notice, she couldn’t understand why she said ‘yes’ so eagerly.

So here she was, staring out into the empty café with the boredom of an idiot sitting in an AP math lesson. As per protocol, all the lights were on, and the door’s neon sign proclaimed ‘OPEN’ in flashy green letters. The sign was so old the ‘O’ was flickering, and there was an internal joke between coworkers that night shift workers were stuck in the café like bulls in a pen. In spite of being well-ventilated, the kitchen smelled of coffee so strongly, Buttercup was sure anyone could get energized just from breathing in there. And as much as she loved coffee, she despised that kitchen.

Her eyes had burned from naps untaken, she had started up another Macchiato for herself, she’d wondered if this was how Mitch felt, and then she remembered their talk from the day before.

She was glad her reflexes stopped her from overfilling her cup. Her uniform’s apron bunched at her hips as she sat at the bar, over-thinking Mitch’s idea.

To be fair, it wasn’t a totally shitty idea. Mitch was never caught since he began his hacking side-business. A year of working with Butch… didn’t seem half as bad as it should have. Five years of a solo career might have sounded heavenly to Buttercup at the start of the contest, but as the end was nearing, it began to feel… _lonely._

Taking the first bitter sip, she shook the idea out of her head. It must’ve been the lack of sleep, even considering something like that.

In April, Buttercup might’ve jumped on the opportunity, but that Buttercup was hell-bent on keeping up her ‘no friendly shit’ mindset. That Buttercup would have _used_ the collaboration as a stepping-stone to success – not partnership or friendship. That Buttercup didn’t know Butch, or rather, refused to get to know him.

That Buttercup didn’t know how he got the scar on his knee. She didn’t know how good he was at telling awful jokes. She didn’t know how close he was capable of getting to her, and how carefully, like they knew each other before they even met.

She knew now, and that was making this decision all the worse on her heart.

It wasn’t the tiniest of chances Mitch could get caught, or the chance that Butch could refuse, but the _five years_.

As desperately as she craved a successful solo career, suddenly the prospect of separation didn’t seem as natural as it did in the beginning. Even though Mitch’s idea wasn’t totally shitty, she’d be even shittier if she didn’t tell Butch about it. Buttercup recalled leisurely talking about how they’d only work together for that month, split the prize, and never speak again. Taking the last sip of coffee, she scowled at how wrong it sounded in comparison to six years.

The year they’d potentially spend working together, Buttercup knew she’d get attached. Hell, if it felt this hard to make the decision now, she wondered how it’d feel a year later. There was nothing she could do anymore to convince herself otherwise – in this short time, she grew loosely attached to him.

They hadn’t spoken since the… the _thing_. In the car. Four fucking days ago. She hadn’t sent him anything. Not a call, not a text, not a ‘hey I was an asshole and I still kind of am but do you wanna stick together for a year or maybe six’.

Decidedly concluding her melodrama, she threw the paper coffee cup in the trash. Her teeth squeaked as she clenched her jaw on the way to the coffee machine, opting for another cup, this time something tooth-rotting sweeter. _Fuck the contest, fuck Mitch’s idea, fuck-_

Her thought was interrupted by _Lava Java_ ’s door opening. The annoying little bell above it was the only sound. The wall clock neared four a.m. And in the doorway stood…

“Butch?” She set her cup down. “What are you doing here?”

He cleared his throat, ambling over with a paper bag. Once he put it up on the bar, he straightened up his leather jacket, cheeks rosy and eyes downcast like he was shy.

“I, uh- I wanted to talk to you,” Butch said, crossing his arms over the bar.

Buttercup imitated his posture, standing across the bar with her arms folded similarly. She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face – this had to be a coincidence. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Switched out with A.J.” His shoulders more twitched than shrugged.

Her teeth dug into her cheeks. “How’d you know I was here?”

His lips tightened, fighting an embarrassing laugh. “I, uh, called Mitch. Was too sca- khm, _awkward to call you_ , so I asked him where you are.”

Buttercup was a touch too close. Inches between them felt like miles and she wanted nothing more to reach over, but _no._ He had something to say.

She had so many things to say, yet all that made it out was, “Want a coffee?”

They locked eyes, and all he could provide was a small, confirming hum before she set about making their coffees. He wasn’t the only one who knew the usual orders.

The emptiness of the café was only amplified by his presence. The clunking hiss of the coffee machine served to further disturb her, knowing she could hear him shuffling mindlessly across the counter. A car or two passed, front lights gleaming in the large windows. His knuckles tapped out a familiar beat, and she recalled them digging into her sides in a hug she wished she could repeat.

The cups finally filled and the foam finally bubbled, she finally joined him at the counter. Her fingertips brushed his as she gave him the cup.

“Thanks,” he murmured, going for his back pocket.

“On the house,” she smiled, putting a hand up, “What did you want to talk about?”

Butch hesitated yet again, fingers tapping away around the cup. It annoyed her to no end, how everything changed that goddamn night. How he couldn’t come up with a ridiculous question for her to answer with rolling eyes. How she blamed herself for it. She sighed.

“Look, I’m-”

“Listen, I-”

Their eyes locked again, interrupting each other.

“You go.”

“You go.”

Even their laughter matched. She found it ridiculous, and he cackled so hard coffee shot out of his nose. Still wheezing with laughter, Buttercup moved to one of the tables, getting him a tissue. It replaced his hand as she wiped it off, his eyes trailing over her face as if committing it to memory.

“There,” she smiled as she threw away the tissue, “Now you go first.”

Butch coughed. “Right, as I was saying… I was thinking, contest aside, we worked really well this last month. Like, I don’t know if you feel like that too, but like – I feel like we clicked. You’re talented as fuck, and you’re dope, and I dig your style, so do you, maybe, kinda, sorta-”

“Bitch.”

His hand disappeared into the paper bag he’d brought in, fishing out a carton box. “… wanna start a band?”

Glancing down as he opened the box, she realized it was a pizza. Her eyes flicked between the musical note and question mark drawn on it in ketchup and his face. Buttercup sucked in a breath.

“But… back then, you said you wanted to give up?”

Butch’s eyes darkened at the memory. “I sorted it out,” he said simply, “I thought about what you told me, about… what I told you. I went through it, y’know, I let it pass – and I let go.”

He swallowed. “I know I can’t change the past, but I know I can’t move on if I live for dead people. Especially, y’know, shitty dead people. I want to live for myself. Move on. With you. In a band.” His eyes flicked to her again. “If you say yes.”

At that point, Buttercup had to cup her mouth to keep from gasping. He put the pizza on the counter, and with the way he was looking at her, she might as well have started crying. Out of everything she had to say, the most important part began to slip.

“…There’s this thing Mitch showed me yesterday,” she stuttered, but noted how intently he leaned forward to listen. “He could hack into _YTR_ ’s database and sign us on as a band. We’d have to stay a band together for a year if we wanted to keep the six-year contract but leave…”

Her breath hitched, the next part shivering out of her mouth. “But I don’t think I want you to leave.”

Butch's lip curled. “Even after a year?”

Unable to find her voice again, she nodded.

Similarly to her reaction, his eyes turned glassy, wide with a mix of surprise and happiness. All inhibitions set aside, she pulled him off the chair and close to her. He didn’t hesitate in wrapping his arms around her, jaw dropping to meet her shoulder. She breathed him in – the minty cologne and the grime at _Joker’s_ – and she was putty in his hands.

“Is this gonna be a thing?” Buttercup murmured into his shirt, “Pizza and hugs?”

He chuckled into her hair, prompting the hairs on her neck to rise. “We can make it a thing, Butts.”

“Then it’s a thing,” she smiled, “Bandmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: https://quarantined-fics.tumblr.com/
> 
> fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNuE9Wb2vuy4b9wEEZjdd8SQapMeTpIvj

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you'd like <3


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